


Awakening

by kaguya_yoru



Series: Perchance to Dream [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Dom Phil Coulson, Dom/sub, Flogging, Impact Play, M/M, Marking, Massage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostate Massage, Sensation Play, Spanking, Sub Clint Barton, Whipping, mild breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 52,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaguya_yoru/pseuds/kaguya_yoru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint wants more. Will Phil give it to him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

A shrill noise cut through the air and Phil blindly reached out, slapping his alarm clock with his open hand. When that didn't make it stop, he peeled his eyes open to see his cell phone vibrating on the night stand, display lighting up with every ring. Supporting himself on his elbows, he grabbed it and answered just before it would have gone to voicemail.

"Coulson," he said, suppressing a yawn.

"Get up. We have a meeting."

Phil let himself drop back to the bed. "I'm suspended."

He heard a small sound and looked down to see Clint curled up at his side, dirty blond hair mussed from sleep. His eyelashes curled against his cheeks, making him seem much younger than his forty years. One of his arms pinned Phil's waist, firm and heavy. A small smile touched Phil's lips as he watched Clint's chest rise and fall in slumber.

"Do I sound like I care?" The voice was an unwelcome intrusion in the peaceful scene. Phil closed his eyes and reminded himself that he really did admire Nick Fury most days. "Get your ass in here."

A soft beep signaled the end of the phone call. Phil allowed himself the luxury of tracing random patterns with his fingers along Clint's back, causing him to shift and murmur in his sleep, before his phone chimed again.

_Did I stutter? Get your ass up!_

Phil sighed and extricated himself from Clint's reaching grasp.

He detoured to the kitchen to start the coffeemaker before taking a quick and efficient shower. He took care toweling his hair, not wanting to lose more than he could afford, and took a moment to study his reflection.

At 46 years of age, he was still in good physical shape thanks to SHIELD training. With his critical eye however, he could see a roundness starting to develop in his midsection. Wrinkles graced the corners of his eyes and mouth. His hairline had receded further than he liked but he had long since given up on that particular battle. His reflexes weren't quite as quick as they used to be. In short, he was solidly middle-aged.

He had shelved the idea of a life partner. Finding someone who could deal with the secrecy of his job was hard enough. Having that same someone not mind being left alone for weeks to months at a time was damn near impossible. And that someone also sharing his tastes? A pipe dream. Before Clint, Phil had resigned himself to semi-regular sessions with Audrey - at least until she found someone new - and the occasional one-night stand.

It was against protocol for SHIELD agents to have relationships with each other but the wording was a strong discouragement rather than a complete prohibition. Being a SHIELD agent was a tough job and nobody understood that better than another agent. When Phil had first joined, he'd tried to date within its ranks but quickly realized that that was a bad idea. There were too many ambitious people looking for a faster way up the ladder. SHIELD may be progressive but the wrong word in the right ear could cost you: at best, your teammates' trust and at worst, your career.

Phil leaned forward and gripped the edge of the sink. Now, a possibility he hadn't dared to dream of lay within his grasp. He'd felt an attraction to Clint since the first time he'd truly laid eyes on him: lying in the mud, clutching his leg where Phil's bullet had buried itself, brilliant eyes glaring at him under a mop of wet hair. It had been too dark to see his eyes clearly then but Phil had memorized every speck of hue in the years since. Phil had opened his mouth to give him the standard recruitment speech and had found himself chastising him instead. When Clint had lowered his eyes to the ground, contrite, Phil had felt a surge of protectiveness that had stolen his breath away.

Something about Clint made him lose control. He'd tried to maintain the customary distance he had with all of his cadets but Clint broke down his walls. He'd encouraged him to learn how to pilot the Quinjets. Phil had brought him food when he was injured, rationalizing that it was no different than when he baked scones for the base. He'd suggested books about military tactics that he thought Clint would find interesting. His actions hadn't been enough to be deemed favoritism - Coulson was invested in every agent he trained - but he didn't get that same warm glow of pride with anyone else.

When Clint had called that night, only four months ago, the last of Phil's defenses had crumbled away. Clint had sounded so earnest in his need and Phil had never been able to deny him anything. Hearing him moan and whimper had been sweet torture and the fact that he could bring Clint to orgasm with his words had sparked a thousand fantasies to life. After bringing himself to the most amazing orgasm he'd had in years, he'd finally acknowledged that he’d knowingly crossed a line. He’d desperately clung to the fact that Clint had said that his tastes were vanilla and convinced himself that they could never be.

He should have known that Clint would never have let it end there. Clint had textbook perseverance; once a goal was in his sight, he wouldn't let himself rest until either he had conquered it or it had conquered him. That's why Phil was being careful to take things slow. Clint had fallen into subspace so effortlessly, as if he was born for it. But he’d fallen into subdrop just as easily and the hurt and confusion that had twisted his features had pained Phil’s heart.

Phil wouldn't be able to live with himself if he hurt Clint.

Phil straightened up. He’d never imagined that he would have this time with Clint and he meant to cherish every moment for as long as it lasted. If that meant he had to curtail some of his more extreme urges, then so be it. He could marshal the control he’d let slip in recent months.

Clint was worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

“What is with you bringing every sob story to my doorstep?” Fury glared at Phil, the corners of his mouth downturned.

They were sitting in Fury’s office, surrounded by chrome and glass and steel. Phil had seen the designs for the Helicarrier and knew they were similar; Fury did always have a certain aesthetic. The early morning sun poured through the windows, glinting off the dark skin of Fury’s bald head and his black leather coat. The rest of his outfit was similarly black, including the eyepatch that didn't quite cover the scars surrounding his left eye.

A small grin touched Phil's lips. “I prefer to call them challenges.” He wore a charcoal suit, preferring it to the form-fitting standard issue SHIELD uniforms.

“They’re a pain in my ass,” Fury said. “And I’m sick of it. Next, you'll be telling me that all Grant Ward needs is a hug."

"I don't think that solo work is the best fit - "

Fury held up a hand. "Save it. First Barton, now Romanoff." He tossed a folder onto the glass desk separating them. “They’re your responsibility now.”

Phil picked up the folder and flipped it open. “Strike Team Delta?”

Fury leaned back in his chair. “I’m fast-tracking Romanoff,” he said, “to level 5.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to get some blowback from that.”

“I don’t care,” Fury said. “We need her and her skills on SHIELD’s side.”

“Why me?” Phil tossed the folder back onto the desk. “You fired me from being Barton’s S.O.”

“And now I’m making you his commanding officer.” Fury regarded Phil for a moment. “Romanoff refuses to work with anyone other than Barton,” he said, “and you.”

“Me?” Phil furrowed his brow. “She hasn’t even met me.”

“Apparently,” Fury drew out the word, “Barton told her a little story and now she’s ready to be on the side of the good. Let’s just see if that bears out.”

Fury leaned forward, his eye fixing Phil with a hard stare. “Speaking of which, you mind telling me what’s going on between you and Barton?”

Phil tightened his jaw. “Are you asking as my friend or as my S.O.?”

Fury snorted. “As your S.O., I could give a rat’s ass what you do with your dick, Phil,” he said. “As your friend, I’m concerned.”

“He’s amazing.” Phil’s voice was quiet. It had been more difficult for him to leave his apartment that morning than he’d thought it would be. When Phil had finally left the bathroom, Clint’s golden skin had been on prominent display, the bedsheet pooled around his waist and the corded muscles of his back and arms tempting Phil into making Fury wait just a little longer.

“Phil.” Fury leaned forward. “You’ve been down this road before.”

Phil closed his eyes. “I know.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“I know.” He clenched his jaw.

“If you break it off now - ”

Phil opened his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t.” That was the one thing he couldn’t do. For as long as Clint wanted him, he would be there.

Fury looked at him for a long time. “I could make it easier for you,” he said, “make it into an official order.”

“That wouldn’t make it easier,” said Phil. “I’m just going to enjoy it while it lasts.”

Fury linked his hands together and trained his eyes on the ceiling. “Romanoff still needs to be cleared by psych to determine if she’s had any brainwashing,” he said. “It’s going to take at least two weeks.”

He looked at Phil. “Use them wisely.”

*

When Phil entered his apartment that afternoon, Clint was sprawled on the sofa, watching a rerun of _Dog Cops_. He paused the episode and scrambled upwards, peering at Phil over the back of the couch.

“I hope you don’t mind that I stayed,” he said, running a hand through his hair and giving Phil a lopsided grin.

Phil’s mouth went dry at the sight of Clint’s bicep straining against his purple T-shirt sleeve. He gave himself a mental shake and closed the apartment door behind him, shutting out the agent stationed in the hallway. Moving into the living room, he slipped off his suit jacket, depositing it on the headrest of an armchair.

He flicked open the button on one of his cuffs and began rolling up the sleeve. "Fury says we're suspended for at least another two weeks."

Phil wasn't looking at Clint but he'd expected some sort of response to his statement. He glanced up to see Clint's eyes focused on his forearm, slowly being revealed by the rolled-up cuff. It was the same look Clint had when he was focused on a target. To see it directed towards him made heat curl low in his belly and his cock stir.

He faced Clint fully and slipped the button free from his other cuff. Phil slowly rolled it up, letting the heat thrum through him at the desire in Clint's eyes and feeling his cock slowly fill. When he finished, Phil crossed over to where Clint was sitting on the couch, lips slightly parted and eyes wide. They were beautiful, blue and green and flecked with hazel. Phil knew Clint's eyes changed colors based on what he was wearing or feeling and right now, they were a deep blue around his dilated pupils.

Phil looked down at this beautiful man who could have anyone he wanted with a smirk and a glance. Clint's breaths were shallow as he held Phil's gaze, head tilted upwards and shoulders relaxed.

"Two weeks?" Clint's voice had that slightly breathless quality it took on when he was turned on. Now Phil intimately knew that next his voice would deepen and when he climaxed, his voice would climb into higher-pitched cries.

Phil reached out and firmly grasped the back of Clint's neck. Clint's breath hitched and the blinking of his eyes became a little slower, a little longer. "Two weeks," Phil confirmed, his own voice growing deeper. "Was there something you wanted?"

He squeezed Clint's neck and Clint let out a soft sigh, turning his cheek into the crook of Phil's wrist. Phil swept a thumb along Clint's cheekbone and wondered how he'd gotten so lucky.

"The list, sir," Clint practically sighed. "I'd like to try something from the list."


	3. Chapter 3

The idea had been growing in the back of Phil's mind all day. He leaned down and kissed Clint softly and sweetly, licking into the corners of Clint's mouth and twining their tongues together. As he did so, his fingers curled in Clint's hair until he had a firm grip. Phil pulled back and stood tall so that Clint had to look up to keep his face in view.

"I want to touch you," Phil said, his voice so deep and full of passion that the words came out in a low growl. "I want to find every sweet spot, every inch of you that makes you gasp and moan."

As he spoke, he pulled back on the strands clutched tight between his fingers. Phil wasn't causing Clint any pain but Clint had no choice but to follow Phil's grip. His neck elongated as his head was pulled inexorably backwards. Clint's eyes fluttered closed.

"I'm going to make you scream," Phil promised, his lips curled in a wicked grin. "I'm going to bring you to the edge so many times that when I finally allow you to come," Clint whimpered, "you won't think that you'll be able to."

Phil stroked the back of his hand down the long column of Clint's throat. Clint's Adam's apple bobbed and his lips parted on a low moan.

"But you will, Clint," Phil said and his hand closed around Clint's throat and squeezed tight. Clint let out a choked cry. "You will."

His mouth slammed down on top of Clint's in a bruising kiss. Clint could only part his lips, too lost in his haze, caught between Phil's grip on his hair and hand around his neck. Phil didn't let up until Clint's hands were clutching Phil's arms, soft sounds coming from his throat. Phil pulled back and loosened his hold, letting air rush back into Clint's lungs.

"Color?" Phil asked, tracing Clint's reddened and kiss-swollen lower lip.

It took a while for Clint to answer. Finally, his eyes opened, still glazed over with desire, and he breathed out, "Green."

"Good," Phil said. Clint's eyes started to slide shut again but Phil gave his head a little shake. "Keep your eyes open for me, sweetheart."

Phil reached down. He undid his belt buckle and unfastened his slacks, drawing down the zipper. Clint's eyes followed Phil's movements, his bright pink tongue tracing his plump lips. Pulling the waistband of his underwear down, Phil released the pressure on his balls; once free, they hung heavy and full.

Phil curled his hand around his partially swollen cock. "Show me what your mouth can do," he said. "Don't miss a single inch."

A defiant glint in Clint's eyes was all the warning Phil had before Clint leaned forward and sucked one of Phil's balls into his mouth. Phil threw his head back as pleasure flooded through him, feeling his cock plump and fill. He groaned as Clint rolled the ball in his mouth, his tongue licking every part it could reach. Letting it slip free, Clint turned his attention to the other one, drawing more sounds from Phil. By the time Clint finished, Phil was fully erect, precome gathering at the tip.

Grabbing Phil's thighs to support himself, Clint let Phil's cock slide into his mouth. Clint's lips opened wide over his girth and he had to go slowly, letting his mouth and throat adjust. He only got halfway before he had to pull back, licking the head and underside as he drew in breaths. Phil's thumb swiped over Clint's cheekbone, his eyes hooded as he watched the movements of Clint's mouth. Clint sank down on it again but was only able to take in another inch before Phil felt Clint's throat spasm around the head of his cock. Clint pulled back and sucked hard on the head, drawing another low groan from Phil.

He tried once more to take Phil in but his throat closed tight on even less length, Clint's eyes shining with unshed tears as he fought his gag reflex, breathing hard through his nose. Clint's brow furrowed in frustration, mouth still stretched over Phil's cock, and Phil thought it was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

"It's okay." Phil transferred his hands so that they cupped the sides of Clint's head, his thumbs resting in front of Clint's ears, framing his face. He drew in a shuddering breath as Clint resumed sucking and licking his length. His balls were drawn up tight and he could feel the edge drawing near. "I'm close," Phil bit out. "Make me come, sweetheart."

Clint began sliding Phil's cock in and out of his mouth, slowly increasing the suction of his lips. His tongue traced designs on the underside and then began flicking rapidly on the area of Phil's shaft abutting the mushroom-shaped head. Phil's breath hitched and then he gave a loud, low groan as thick spurts of come flooded Clint's mouth. It was too much for Clint to swallow all at once, spilling down Phil's shaft, but Clint dutifully licked it all up. His face was relaxed as he pressed gentle kisses to Phil's softening, sensitive cock.

"You taste good," Clint said, looking up at Phil, licking his lips. His voice was deep and slightly hoarse.

Phil was still panting slightly. His body tingled from the force of his orgasm and he wasn't quite sure how he was still standing. "Fuck, Clint," he said. "Fuck."

"Please." A breathless note was in Clint’s voice and one of his hands balled the fabric of his jeans near the crease of his thigh, a tell Phil now knew meant he wanted to touch his own cock.

"Oh no you don't." Phil's hand gripped Clint's hair and forcefully jerked his head backwards, pulling a gasp from Clint. "I told you my plan, didn't I?" Phil said, eyes hard and his voice dark. "And you're going to be good for me, aren't you?"

"Y-yes, sir." Clint dropped his hands to the side, away from the line of his erect cock pressing against the seam of his jeans.

“No cockrings this time,” Phil said, releasing Clint’s hair. He began to fix his clothes, tucking himself back into his slacks and zipping up. “You’re going to have to control yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint lowered his eyes and drew in a deep breath.

“Come with me,” Phil said. He led the way to the bedroom, closing the door behind them and stopping at the foot of the bed.

“Strip,” he said. “When you’re done, lie face-down on the bed.”


	4. Chapter 4

Clint nodded. Phil turned on his heel and strode into the attached walk-in closet. He could hear the sound of clothes rustling as he closed the door behind him.

One side of the closet was lined with suits, all different styles, patterns, and fits; the other side with the accompanying accessories - ties, belts, cufflinks, socks, and shoes. Collected over the past 30 years, they represented every facet of Phil Coulson, agent of SHIELD, every persona he'd presented to the world in order to ensure peace and justice. A padded bench rested at the back of the closet near the dress shoes, a shoehorn lying on the ground next to it.

It was this that Phil dropped down onto, as if his legs couldn't support his weight anymore. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and buried his head in his hands.

"Fuck," he said, scrubbing his face with the palms of his hands. "Clint."

He had to be more careful. Clint submitted like he had never done anything else and his bratting was genuine, not a deliberate attempt to provoke him. It made baser urges stir in Phil, impulses he'd already swore he'd keep in check. His control had already slipped once tonight when he'd yanked Clint's head back without thinking. He wouldn't slip again.

Shelves lined the back wall of the closet, most of which contained flotsam and jetsam, but the bottom shelf held Phil's guilty pleasures: a key to the climate-controlled storage unit containing his Captain America memorabilia and two large black boxes. Phil gently ran a finger over the box closest to him. He'd never thought he’d have a chance to use the items within them. They were the physical representation of his fantasies; what could be if he found someone who would share every aspect of his life. Using these items with Clint - like in the rope bondage scene a couple of months ago - was a literal dream come true and Phil was savoring every second. Tugging the lid off, he selected a few items before re-sealing the box and heading back towards the bedroom.

At the doorway, he took a moment to admire the man waiting for him. No bedsheet obscured his view this time and all of Clint's golden skin was on prominent display. Strong, broad shoulders led to muscular arms, which Clint had folded and on which he was resting his head. His torso tapered down into a narrow waist, punctuated by perfectly round buttocks. His strong thighs and muscular calves completed the picture, reminding Phil of famous Greek statues.

Clint's gaze was sharp and intent on the items in Phil's hands. Phil approved; he'd wanted Clint to have enough time to completely recover so he could have the fun of driving him right back to the edge again. Phil sat on the side of the bed and ran a hand down Clint's spine, letting it rest in the small of his back. Clint sighed, his muscles visibly relaxing.

"Good," Phil murmured, his voice warm.

Clint's mouth curved and his eyes brightened, smile lines appearing in the corners.

Phil set the bottle and box on the nightstand, reaching into the drawer to pull out the lube stored there and placing it with the other items. He picked up the first bottle and poured some of the unscented liquid into his hands, rubbing them together.

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Massage lotion," said Phil to the unasked question and dug his hands into Clint's shoulders. Clint let out a low groan and tension drained from his body, muscles unknotting. Phil was very thorough, working his way even out to the tips of Clint's fingers and toes. Clint groaned in appreciation throughout, sighing when Phil's clever fingers dissolved a particularly stubborn knot.

When Phil was certain Clint was relaxed to his satisfaction, he guided Clint to spread his legs.

"When you masturbate, Clint," Phil said, tracing the cleft of Clint's butt with his fingers, "do you use your fingers here?" He parted the two halves and trailed his fingers over Clint's pucker.

It twitched once but otherwise, Clint's body remained relaxed. "No, sir," he said, his voice almost drowsy.

Phil wiped his hands on the bedspread and picked up the bottle of lube. He warmed some between his fingers and began to prepare Clint, slowly working one, then two fingers inside. He relished how tight Clint's hole was, the way the muscle clung to his fingers as he moved them in and out, and he loosened him slowly, scissoring his fingers once he could fit two inside. As he worked, Clint began to rock his hips, sighs and moans falling from his lips, pushing his ass against Phil's fingers. Phil didn't try to stop him, enjoying the play of Clint's muscles, and letting him work himself up for several minutes.

"I hope you don't think you're going to come any time soon," Phil said in a mild voice and then deliberately crooked his fingers to brush against Clint's prostate.

Clint's slow movements stopped instantly, his mouth falling open and eyes widening but Phil was relentless, moving his fingers over the small organ again and again. Clint moaned and clutched the bedsheet tight between his fingers, trying to keep still but unable to stop the jolts of his body, to keep from grinding his cock into the bed. Finally, Phil pulled his fingers free and Clint's face relaxed in relief.

Phil smiled and moved closer to the head of the bed, so that he was in Clint’s eyesight. He reached for the box with his clean hand and pulled out a black, oddly shaped object, bulbous at one end and tapering down at the other. It flared out into two curlicues, a black one ending in a small knob while the other curling in on itself like the handle of a mug, bright red in color.

Phil held the object in front of Clint’s eyes. “Do you know what this is?”

Clint drew his brows together. “Butt plug?”

“Close. It’s a prostate massager,” Phil said, enjoying the panic that flared in Clint’s eyes. “What’s your color, Clint?”

“Green.” Clint’s voice was almost a whisper as he eyed the toy with trepidation, obviously wondering how he was going to keep from coming.

“I’m going to work it in slowly,” said Phil, “and then you’re going to turn over for me.” He set the toy on the bed and grabbed the bottle of lube, pouring more into his hand. Phil did exactly as he said, leaving Clint shivering in need, the tapered end and curlicues keeping the toy snug inside.

Phil playfully slapped one of Clint’s buttcheeks, causing him to choke on a moan. “Turn over.”

It took Clint several minutes to do so; he had to stop every time the toy shifted inside of him, biting back whimpers. He was a mess when he finally lay on his back, precome coating his entire midsection from his abdomen to the tops of his thighs, drops still welling up and sliding down his shaft. His cock was flushed and curved towards his belly, twitching every so often.

Phil kneeled between Clint’s legs. “Clint?” He waited until Clint focused his gaze on him, eyes hooded and his teeth biting into his lower lip. “Payback’s a bitch,” he said and leaned down, sucking one of Clint’s balls into his mouth, salt bursting over his tongue.

Clint cried out and jerked forward, then cried out again when the toy shifted inside of him. His hands scrabbled over Phil’s back and shoulders, his whimpers getting more and more desperate. Phil let him slip free and quickly sucked the other ball into his mouth. Clint practically sobbed, one of his hands yanking hard on Phil’s dress shirt collar.

Phil let him go and sat back on his heels. Clint remained half curled in on himself, face bright red and sweat dampening his hairline, head hanging forward. He was panting as if he’d run a marathon, eyes squeezed shut. His hands balled the bedsheets in a tight grip.

“Color, Clint?”

It was clear Clint couldn’t answer. Phil slipped two fingers into one of Clint’s fists. “One squeeze for green, two for yellow, three for red.”

A long pause and then one quick squeeze of his fingers. Phil waited for more but slipped them free when it was obvious Clint was done.

“Lie back,” Phil said. Clint’s eyes squeezed tighter and a single tear slipped down his cheek.

Phil hardened his voice. “Lie back,” he said. “Don’t make me repeat it.” 

It took even longer for Clint to lie back than it did for him to turn over. Eventually, he was flat on his back, chest heaving. Tension thrummed through his body, making his limbs rigid. His cock was so soaked in precome, it was amazing he hadn’t climaxed. Yet, it was still hard, the large vein on the underside clearly prominent.

“You’re going to come, sweetheart.” Clint did sob this time, shaking his head no.

Phil leaned forward. “You are,” he said, his voice warm with encouragement. “I’m going to help you.” He reached out and grasped Clint’s cock, precome easing the way for his hand to slide up and down the silky shaft.

Clint was absolutely breathtaking in his desperation. He rocked up into Phil’s tight fist and grinded down on the prostate massager, his cries climbing into higher and higher registers. His back arched and he writhed on the bed, head twisting from side to side. Then he abruptly went quiet.

For one moment, he hung in the air as if in suspended animation, back arched, head thrown back. Then Phil swiped his thumb over the tip of Clint’s cock and he shattered, howling as his orgasm finally ripped through him, come coating his chest and abdomen. His voice gradually petered out into whimpers and Phil let go of his softening cock. He cupped Clint’s jaw with his clean hand and pressed kisses to Clint’s forehead, cheeks, his closed eyelids, and lips.

“Oh, baby, you were so wonderful,” Phil whispered. Tears pricked his own eyes, matching the ones clinging to Clint’s eyelashes. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He hurried to and from the bathroom but Clint didn’t move an inch in his absence. Phil used a soft washcloth to wash Clint’s skin, murmuring endearments and praise. He coaxed Clint onto his side to remove the prostate massager and slid a large beach towel underneath him, covering the worst of the sweat and come that had soaked the sheets.

Phil retrieved some Gatorade from the kitchen and quickly undressed, pulling on a soft T-shirt and sleep pants. He slipped under the sheets and pulled Clint into his arms, encouraging him to drink some of the sports drink. Clint’s movements were sluggish and his eyes remained closed, his long eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Phil set the bottle on the nightstand and arranged Clint so that he was draped across him, his face tucked into Phil’s neck and the weight of his body pressing Phil into the mattress. He continued to drop kisses onto Clint’s forehead and temple until Clint’s breaths slowed and Phil himself drifted into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

They slept, legs entangled, Clint's face pressed into Phil's neck and Phil's arm draped across Clint's shoulders. Phil had to get out of bed once in the middle of the night to relieve his aching bladder but slipped back into it as soon as he could, pulling Clint close once more. Clint curled up to him with a sigh, head resting on Phil's chest and hand grasping Phil's shoulder.

When Phil next woke, the early morning light peaked through the curtains, lightening the shadows in the room. Clint stirred in his sleep, snuffling into Phil's chest. Phil swept one hand up and down Clint's back, the thumb of his other hand tracing the curve of Clint's bicep. His heart felt full and for the first time in a long time, he felt content.

He waited until Clint's sleepy movements became more purposeful before he asked, his voice hushed in the early morning stillness, "How do you feel?"

Clint tensed all his muscles and then relaxed them again, letting out a pleased groan. His eyes opened halfway. "Good, sir," he said, his voice more of a low rumble.

"Good," Phil said, sliding his hand into the hair at the nape of Clint's neck and resting it there. "Good."

They lay there for several minutes, the room continuing to brighten with the rising sun, before Clint spoke again. "No offense, boss, but this bed reeks."

Phil's mouth curved. "Agreed," he said. He dropped a kiss onto the top of Clint's head and gave him a nudge. "Go start the shower."

Phil heard the shower turn on as he stripped the sheets off the bed, balling them and depositing them into the laundry hamper. The splatter of water hitting the tile became partially muffled when Clint closed the shower door. Phil quickly made up the bed with fresh sheets, smoothing the comforter back into place. His bedroom now looked like it always did but Phil still felt like it had somehow changed in the night. He felt charged up with energy, a feeling he usually only got at the beginning of a new mission and then only after his second cup of coffee.

He made his way into the master bathroom and stopped just inside to appreciate the sight that greeted him. At the far end was a large walk-in shower, its walls made of completely transparent glass. Clint stood under the spray, water cascading over the muscles of his back, sluicing down the cleft of his ass, and dripping onto the tile below. Clint turned, as if sensing Phil's gaze, and Phil was treated to the sight of water trailing down his pecs and tracing over the ridges of his abdominal muscles. Clint’s morning wood had partially subsided, his cock at half-mast.

"Come on in, Phil," Clint said, a cheeky grin on his face. "The water's fine."

Phil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He quickly brushed his teeth before undressing and opening the shower door. Clint's grin had faded and his gaze was intent on Phil as he moved underneath the spray. Phil enjoyed the feeling of warm water running over his skin for a moment. His hands reached out and Clint readily moved into Phil's embrace, his lips parting as Phil's mouth settled over them.

Phil took his time kissing Clint. He tasted like the mint of Phil's toothpaste; a thrill ran through Phil at that simple intimacy. Phil rested his hands on Clint’s narrow waist, his thumb running along the soft skin of his lower abdomen. Clint made a small noise in his throat and pressed closer, slotting their hips together. Phil continued the kiss until he was sure he’d tasted every corner of Clint’s mouth, until Clint’s pulse beat rapidly against his palm where it was cupped around Clint’s jaw, until Clint’s cock was pressing insistently against his own.

Only then did he pull away to trail kisses down Clint’s neck. Phil pushed Clint until his back hit the glass wall of the shower. His hands encircled Clint’s wrists and pressed them against the shower wall as well, right at the level of Clint’s hips. There was no force to any of his movements and Clint willingly followed his lead. A charged silence hung in the air and it seemed as if the whole world had fallen away, leaving just the two of them.

“Don’t move,” Phil murmured and settled his mouth over the hollow right above Clint’s collarbone, sucking hard at the sensitive skin. Clint let out a sharp cry but he heeded Phil’s order, his body staying still. Phil sucked and nipped at the area until the skin bloomed a vivid purple, dropping a soft kiss on it before pulling away completely. He felt a deep surge of satisfaction as he looked at the bruise marking Clint as his, knowing that it would take several days to fade and would be hidden underneath Clint’s T-shirts.

Clint’s gaze was unfocused and he was drawing in shallow breaths. Not wanting to break the silence, Phil slipped two of his fingers into Clint’s hand. Clint gave him one squeeze and closed his eyes, blowing out a breath and leaning his head back against the glass. Phil picked up the shower gel and poured some into his hands, working it into a lather. He began to smooth it over Clint’s skin, taking care not to miss a single inch. He even used a washcloth to clean Clint’s most intimate areas.

By the time Phil finished, tears were slipping down Clint’s cheeks but no sound had escaped his lips; Phil wasn’t even sure if Clint was aware he was crying. Phil quickly washed his own body and made sure all of the suds had been cleansed from their skin. He gave a sharp twist to the handle of the shower to shut it off, the sudden silence jarring after the patter of the falling water.

Clint finally opened his eyes. There was a lost expression in them and Phil had to kiss it away, pressing his lips gently against Clint’s forehead and lips. Clint buried his face into Phil’s neck, his arms encircling Phil’s waist. Phil threaded one hand into the short hairs at the nape of Clint’s neck, the other pressed against the small of Clint’s back. Emotions swelled within him and words rose from his heart, clamoring to be said. He pressed his lips together and forced them back, not wanting to break the fragile tenderness between them.

After several minutes, they parted and toweled themselves dry. They slipped back into their pajamas and Phil settled Clint on the couch, wrapping him in the blanket that had been draped along the back. He went into the kitchen and quickly made hot cocoa from scratch, whisking warm milk in to make it richer and a dash of coffee liqueur for flavor. He handed a mug to Clint and sat down on the couch, pressing close. Clint downed half of the mug in one long swallow.

Phil studied Clint. He seemed thoughtful but, unlike the time he went into subdrop, there was no sense of restless energy about him. His voice was soft when he spoke and he looked ahead rather than meet Phil’s gaze. “This is different than what I thought it would be,” he said, clasping the mug close.

“What did you think it would be?” Phil took a sip of his own drink. The warm, rich liquid steadied his nerves.

A corner of Clint’s lips lifted and he turned to face Phil. “That you would whip me if I misbehaved?” he said, laughter in his voice.

“Did you,” Phil said, his voice deadpan, going along with the joke, “just compare our relationship to a Justin Timberlake song?”

Clint smiled at him and Phil shook his head, taking another sip to hide the small curve of his lips. He didn’t think he fooled Clint; he was called Hawkeye for a reason.

“Still,” Clint said, “no whips.” He finished the rest of his mug and set it down on the coffee table.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” Phil asked, keeping his voice steady.

“This has been amazing,” Clint said. “Really, truly amazing. The way you make me feel,” Clint took a deep breath, “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“But you want more.” Phil kept his face free from expression and his voice without inflection, but a sense of dread rose in him.

Clint blew out a breath. “It’s not that,” he said. “It’s just that, sometimes, it seems like you do.”

Phil smiled. “Rest assured that I have been very happy with the way things have been going,” he said.

There was a slight furrow in Clint’s brow. “You told me in your office that you wanted to whip me until I screamed,” he said, his voice blunt. “We haven’t done anything like that.”

Phil took another sip from his mug. “I seem to recall some screaming last night,” he said in a mild tone, charmed by the sudden blush that appeared on Clint’s cheeks.

“But the list - ,” Clint pressed.

“This is not a race,” Phil said, unable to hold back the sudden sharpness in his voice. Clint shut his mouth with an audible click. Phil sighed and set the mug on the coffee table. “Come here,” he said, his voice gentle again, drawing Clint towards him. Clint went into Phil’s embrace but tension made the movement of his limbs awkward.

“I wrote that list so that you would be aware of what you were getting into,” he said, “not as a checklist of things you needed to accomplish.” Phil dropped a kiss onto Clint’s temple. He closed his eyes at the smell of his shower gel on Clint’s skin. “You’ve already given me far more than I could have dreamed. I want us both to enjoy this time together.”

Clint abruptly relaxed at Phil’s words. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, burrowing further into Phil’s arms. “I just wanted to be sure - ”

Phil shushed him. “There’s no need for you to apologize.” He swallowed against the swell of emotion in his throat. “Words can’t describe how remarkable you are,” he said, “but I’m going to make sure you know it from now on.”


	6. Chapter 6

"Here's everything we have on Romanoff," Fury said, holding out a folder to Phil.

Phil reached across Fury's glass-topped desk and grabbed the thick file. Being suspended meant they were benched from missions but Phil and Clint had obligations to their professions and SHIELD that not even a budding relationship could force them to set aside completely. Phil had wanted to go over the notes from the Budapest mission to see if a change in tactics could have helped them catch Romanoff sooner while Clint had wanted to put some time in the range; they'd shared a lingering kiss in Phil's apartment that morning before making their separate ways to the local SHIELD base. It was a somewhat wasted effort - the agents assigned to watch them surely knew that Clint was spending his nights at Phil's apartment but neither had wanted to spark the rumor mill any more than necessary. As soon as Phil arrived at base, Fury had called him in for a meeting.

Phil flipped through the sheafs of paper, raising his eyebrows at the sheer amount of information now present. When they'd gone to Budapest, there had been barely two sheets of information and a lot of question marks had dotted the pages. He paused when he got to the start of the section detailing Romanoff's psychological evaluation; its completion was dated several days before his last meeting with Fury.

He looked up. "Thank you," Phil said quietly.

There was a forbidding look on Fury's face, his brows drawn into a frown. "I'd hold onto that thanks," he said. "You and Barton are both reinstated, effective immediately."

Phil felt his own forehead crease. "Trouble?"

"There's something happening in Abidjan," Fury said. "Nothing concrete but I'd like to keep an eye on the situation."

"You're shipping Barton and me out alone?"

"And Romanoff," Fury said. "This will be the first mission for Strike Team Delta."

Phil shook his head. "You can't be serious," he said. The expression on Fury's face didn't change and his eye stared Phil down. "You are serious," Phil said, feeling a headache starting to form right between his eyes. "Sir, we haven't even trained together."

"You have one week," Fury said. "You're three highly-trained operatives. I trust that you'll figure it out."

Phil tightened his lips. "I don't trust her."

"Good,” Fury said, “I don't either.”

He leaned forward. “She was too forthcoming with information," Fury said, gesturing to the thick file. "This should be a milk run. I'm hoping by the end of it, I'll know whether I just gained a gold mine or a wolf in sheep's clothing."

"You want me to flush her out." Phil's jaw tightened. 

Fury's face relaxed somewhat and a corner of his lips lifted slightly. "We've hit our quota of mixed metaphors here, but yes," he said. "You and Barton. She seems to have formed some kind of connection to Barton and you have a way of making people talk. On that note, she's waiting for you in conference room A." He stood and waited for Phil to do so as well, still holding the file. "It was her request to talk to you alone."

Phil let a small smile touch his lips. "I assume you'll be watching, sir?"

"Phil." Fury tilted his head forward. The eyepatch only lent itself to the hard stare he gave Phil, but Phil had known him long enough to see the amusement lurking in Fury's eye. "I'm always watching."

"Of course, sir." Phil chuckled and shook Fury's hand before leaving Fury's office. He headed towards the conference room, the smile fading from his lips.

He had hoped for a few more days with Clint all to himself. More than that, he had hoped for more time before he and Clint were shipped out on the same mission. What was spinning out between them was fragile; Clint had just spent a month deciding whether their relationship was worth the risk of subdrop. Phil felt deep in his heart that he was now on borrowed time. Every kiss and every touch of Clint’s skin was more intense and more meaningful than anything Phil had done before. He cherished every second that he could spend with Clint in sweet surrender, eyelashes sweeping across his cheeks, tears brightening his already brilliant eyes. 

In Phil's apartment, with none of the pressures of the outside world, their relationship seemed natural and easy. But Phil had already learned that the life of a SHIELD agent was not conducive to relationships and what he brought to the table added an additional strain. He could only hold onto Clint for as long as he could and try not to scare him away.

Phil pushed open the heavy dark-stained wooden door to find Romanoff already seated at the conference table. This particular conference room had dark wood paneling and plush brown leather chairs surrounded the mahogany table. Although her posture portrayed nothing but a mild disinterest, there was an attentiveness to her gaze as he crossed the room. Phil placed the file on the table before sitting.

"You've been very cooperative," Phil said, placing one hand on the thick stack of papers. He had chosen a seat halfway down the table, a few chairs separating the two of them. It was close enough for a conversation yet far enough away that they both had breathing room. And room to maneuver if a fight occurred.

Phil could see her taking in the distance he'd chosen. She tilted her head, her hair swinging to the right. Since Budapest, she had cut her distinctive red hair, perfectly complemented by cherry red lipstick, into a chin-length bob that suited her heart-shaped face.

"A surrender is useless without the cooperation of both parties," she said.

"Why did you accept Barton's proposal?"

"He didn't kill me."

Normally, he could read people fairly well but he could have been talking to a mannequin for all that he was getting from her. Although Phil knew she was Russian, he could detect no trace of an accent in her smoky voice. Her bright green eyes were distant and her face relaxed in a neutral expression.

"That's it?" Phil said, spreading his hands.

Some emotion flashed in her eyes, gone too quickly for Phil to decipher. "He told me about SHIELD," she said, "and you. He said you shot him."

"I did," Phil said. It wasn't a secret. Clint had even helped turn it into an urban legend around SHIELD, claiming that Phil had emptied an entire clip before managing to score one lucky shot. In fact, Phil had been standing ten feet away and deliberately shot Clint when he'd taunted Phil.

She narrowed her eyes. "He also said that you told him that he was better than a lowlife's thug for hire. An unparalleled skill like his should be honed by the best this world has to offer and turned into a force for good."

Her cool green eyes held Phil's gaze unflinchingly and her tone remained civil. "I wanted to see the kind of person who would say something like that to an uneducated hick carnie who had one of the leading numbers of mercenary kills that year,” she said, “and inspire such loyalty. Now I know a little bit more about Agent Clint Barton."

Anger flared in Phil’s chest. "I'm only going to say this once." Phil's voice was tight and controlled, fury evident in every syllable. He stared hard at the beautiful woman sitting across from him, not caring that she was one of the deadliest people in the world. "If your actions cause harm to Barton or any other agent of SHIELD, I will not hesitate to put you down."

Her lips curved and Phil cursed himself for letting Romanoff get to him. "And now I know a little bit more about you, Agent Coulson." Her tone became all business. "I will work with you," she said, "and SHIELD."

Phil’s jaw was still clenched. "Are you declaring loyalty to SHIELD?"

"I am not," she said, the words clipped. For an instant, he got a glimpse of real emotion, just a flicker of pain in her eyes. It was gone too quickly before Phil could tell whether it was new or old. “But I will not betray SHIELD’s trust.”

Phil stood. “Trust needs to be earned, Miss Romanoff,” he said, moving forward and extending his hand to hers. She stood as well, her movements fluid, and shook his hand in a firm grasp.

“We have a mission in one week,” Phil said. “Let’s see if you can become an agent of SHIELD.”


	7. Chapter 7

Phil followed the hostess to the back of the restaurant. It had the richly decorated interior expected of a four star restaurant with crisp white linen tablecloths and sparkling silverware adorning the empty tables. Although it was midday outside, the low lighting and lack of windows lent an intimate air. The restaurant was half full, most people conversing in low voices with the occasional bold laughter splitting the air.

A willowy woman with tousled brown hair down to her shoulders stood as Phil approached the small corner booth. “Phil,” she said, with a wide, warm smile on her face.

Phil smiled in return, grasping her hands with his own and placing a kiss to her cheek. “Audrey,” he said, his voice fond. As they took their seats, he noted her long black dress. “I didn’t miss a performance, did I?”

“Oh, no,” Audrey said. “Just a dress rehearsal.”

They were interrupted by the waiter gathering their meal and drink orders. A short silence fell once the waiter left but it was a companionable one.

Audrey sipped her ice water. “It’s good to see you, Phil,” she said.

“You too. I have to admit though,” Phil said, “this is not entirely a social visit.”

She let out a small giggle. “It never is. I’m used to it now.”

Phil had chosen this restaurant for its discretion and no other patrons were seated at the nearby tables. “Have you ever experienced subspace?”

Audrey picked up her water again and took a sip. “Found someone new?” Her tone was light, almost airy, but there was a discordant note to it and her brown eyes were a little too bright when she met his gaze.

Phil frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m being insensitive, aren’t I?”

She waved a hand through the air. “No, no, no,” she said. “Don’t mind me. I’m happy for you.” Audrey reached out and squeezed his hand tight. “I wondered why I hadn’t heard from you for months,” she smiled, “not that that’s unusual.”

“A lot has been going on,” Phil replied.

Audrey toyed with the edge of her napkin. “Actually, there’s a possibility that I might be joining the Portland Symphony Orchestra.”

“Really?” Phil smiled when she nodded. “Audrey, that’s wonderful!”

“I’m excited,” she said with a small grin. “I hope it all works out.”

“Of course it will. I have no doubts.”

“I will miss having you as a Dom, that’s all. You’re one of the good ones.” Audrey looked up as their drinks arrived and thanked the waiter when he refilled her water glass. “To answer your question,” she said once the waiter had left, “no, I haven’t. That’s not why I do this.”

Phil leaned forward. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you?”

Audrey ran her fingers through her tousled strands and then rested her chin on her fist. “It’s like playing the cello. When you pull that bow across the strings, you get whittled down to one purpose: to make beautiful sounds come from that wooden box.” Her smile was dreamy. “Submission is similar. The rest of the world fades away and you get whittled down to that one purpose. It’s oddly freeing.”

Phil leaned back. “Thank you,” he said. “I think I understand some things better now.” He sipped his Scotch, savoring the rich flavor. “What about pain?”

“Ah, that’s different.” Audrey was quiet for a moment, lost in her thoughts. “I don’t get that euphoria of subspace but I guess it’s sort of like watching fireworks,” her brows drew together, “those bright flashes of brilliant light against a dark sky. It’s beautiful.” She giggled self-consciously. “That’s probably a stupid description.”

“Of course not,” Phil said. “It’s a wonderful one.”

“Well, I was thinking about our sessions. You do know your way around a flogger.” Audrey’s gaze turned sharp. “If you’re asking me about subspace, I assume you’re also worried about subdrop.”

“Yes,” Phil admitted. “It’s been a concern so we’re taking things slow.”

“Like I said,” Audrey smiled warmly, “one of the good ones.”

Phil swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “He’s brought up whips,” he said, “but he’s new to all of this. I don’t want him pushing himself because of my kink list.” He briefly explained the list he’d written and the subsequent discussion they had. 

Audrey’s brown eyes were warm and her gaze fond. “There’s a far simpler explanation,” she said. “He brought it up because he was interested in it.”

Phil blinked. “What? No, that can’t be.”

Brown tresses swung to the side as Audrey tilted her head. “Why not?”

Phil had no answer. Even now, after several months of being together, the possibility of Clint’s kinks aligning with his own seemed inconceivable. “I can’t hurt him,” he finally said.

“Oh, Phil.” The kindness in her eyes almost undid him. “Are you really worried about you hurting him," Audrey said, "or about him hurting you?”

*

“We need to talk,” Phil said when Clint came over that night. He was glad that agents were no longer stationed in his hallway; he hadn’t even closed the door before the words had come out.

“Okay,” Clint said, drawing out the word and raising his eyebrows. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up in the closet.

Phil took a deep breath. “I also want to tie you up.”

“Okay,” Clint said, his eyes turning a deeper blue. He toed off his shoes and placed them neatly beside Phil’s.

“It’s not an elaborate tie,” Phil said as they moved further into the living room where coils of rope already lay on top of the waist-high bookcase. “If you safeword, I will take you out of it immediately.”

“Coulson,” Clint said, “I trust you.”

Phil nodded. “Take off your shirt.”

Since his conversation with Audrey, Phil had felt unsettled all day. He and Clint should have had this conversation before, back when he’d given Clint the list. He’d been distracted by Clint’s admission that he hadn’t come without Phil’s command, even though Phil hadn’t even told him about that kink; too many fantasies and scenarios to count running through his mind.

A surge of desire went through him as Clint stripped off his shirt, his muscles flexing with the movement. Truly, he wanted to lash Clint spread-eagled on his four-poster bed and tease him until he was an incoherent mess. He contented himself by stepping close and running his hands over Clint’s skin, up along the planes of his abs and pecs, sweeping along his broad shoulders, and trailing down his arms to his wrists. Clint blew out a shuddering breath and Phil stepped back, not wanting to tip him into subspace if he could help it.

Phil took a moment just to appreciate the way Clint looked: messy hair, his eyes dark and intent, his narrow waist and abs tapering into his blue jeans, a hole in the toe of one of his socks.

“Kneel.”

Oh, he had been waiting to make that command since day one and Clint didn’t disappoint. Without a modicum of hesitation, he slid to his knees, his movements fluid and graceful. Phil wanted to forget about the conversation entirely, just walk over and slide his length into Clint’s mouth. Clint licked his lips, making them shiny and wet, and Phil’s cock jumped.

“We do need to talk,” Phil said, his own voice gone husky. “We can do it after I take you out of the tie or while you’re in it. Your choice.”

“While I’m in it,” Clint said. “I’ll safeword if I need to.”

“Good,” Phil said, his voice a low murmur. Clint smiled, small lines appearing at the corners of his eyes. “If you fall into subspace, the conversation will end and I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” he promised.

“Sir,” Clint breathed out, his smile still bright.

Phil picked up one of the coils of rope. He separated Clint’s wrists so they were about five inches apart and wrapped the rope several times around both wrists. Twisting the lengths underneath, he began winding them around the center strands until it looked as if Clint was wearing rope handcuffs. He secured the ends and checked in with Clint that the ropes weren’t too tight and that the pressure was evenly distributed.

He guided Clint’s wrapped wrists back until they were behind Clint’s head, level with the tops of shoulders. Phil tied a double overhand knot and quickly wound the ropes back and forth around Clint’s chest, tying knots as he went, until he’d fashioned a harness, leaving the ends dangling in the front. He twisted the loose ends into a simple cord just to make it more manageable, tying off the end with another overhand knot.

“You seem to like me in this pose,” Clint said. It was very similar to the position Phil had placed him the last time they’d done rope bondage, although with slightly less freedom of movement.

“Your arms are delectable,” Phil said, running his hands over them again and drawing a sigh from Clint, “as is every part of you.” He picked up the twisted cord. “Come with me.”

Clint nodded. Phil tugged on the cord once, guiding him to his feet and leading him to a large, round overstuffed ottoman. Clint dropped down onto it while Phil sat in the accompanying armchair. Phil took another moment to appreciate the aforementioned arms and felt something inside him settle at having Clint tied up in his ropes.

He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Phil gazed into Clint’s eyes, which were completely level with his in their current positions. “Our relationship has been a little one-sided,” Phil said, “and I take the blame for that. We’ve been talking too much about me and not enough about you.”

“Sir?”

“You told me you had done some reading on this,” Phil said. “Was there anything in particular that you wanted to do?”

Clint’s forehead creased. “Maybe?” he said and shrugged. “I like what we’ve done so far.”

Phil leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Okay, let’s start with that,” he said. “What have you liked about what we’ve done so far?”

Clint still seemed to be struggling to form words. He hadn’t fallen into subspace; he just couldn’t seem to articulate his thoughts. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I haven’t really thought about that much. It just feels good.”

“If it helps,” Phil said, his voice gentle, “think of this as a sitrep. This is me checking in on you and I need to know exactly what’s going on to know how to proceed next.”

Clint’s shoulders relaxed. “Yes, sir,” he said. He was quiet for a moment. “I guess we started out with this,” he said, dipping his head to indicate the ropes criss-crossing his chest.

Phil nodded.

“That first time, I kind of drifted away.” Clint’s voice was a low murmur and his eyes were downcast as he thought back. “It was a nice feeling. I felt,” he hesitated, “safe. I do now, too.”

“Good,” Phil said. He held back the words he wanted to say - declarations about how he would always keep Clint safe - because he didn’t want to derail Clint’s thoughts.

Clint met Phil’s gaze. “Remembering that night was what made me want to take the risk of subdrop. Because you always make me feel safe, even when I felt like I was drowning.”

“Clint.” Phil poured all of his feelings into the one word. A charged silence hung between them before Clint gave him a crooked grin.

“Then there was the night you blew my mind, sir,” he said. The tension in the air evaporated and Phil allowed his own lips to curl as he remembered. “I didn’t know I could come that hard.”

Phil clasped his hands together. “I pushed you hard that night.”

“You did.” Clint nodded. “But it felt even better in the end, like when I push myself on the range. I felt like I accomplished something,” he let out a small laugh, “although all I did was come.”

“You followed all of my instructions,” Phil said and his voice deepened, “and you came beautifully.”

Clint drew in a quick breath. “Then there was the shower.”

Phil blinked. He hadn’t really thought of that as a scene although in retrospect, he’d treated it as such, making sure that Clint had the appropriate aftercare. “What about the shower?”

Clint suddenly avoided his eyes. “Clint?” Phil prompted.

“It’s fading already,” Clint finally mumbled.

Phil looked at Clint’s collarbone. The mark he’d placed there was receding, its reddened edges already back to normal and the once-purple center faded to a yellow-green. “Yes, it is,” he said, “we’re going on a mission soon so it’s probably for the best.”

Clint’s jaw was set. “You wanted it to last longer?” Phil said slowly. Clint gave a brief nod.

Phil felt like the pieces finally slid into place. “Clint,” he said, not daring to hope, “is that why you want to be whipped?”


	8. Chapter 8

"Yellow, sir," Clint said, his voice barely a whisper. His eyelashes brushed his cheeks.

"Talk to me, Clint," said Phil immediately. "What do you need?"

"Can you take my hands down?" Clint said. "But keep them wrapped in the ropes?"

"Of course," Phil said. He quickly undid the harness and guided Clint's hands down until they were in front of his body. He checked the tightness of the ropes. "Any numbness or tingling?"

Clint shook his head. He still wouldn't meet Phil's gaze. Phil looked at Clint for a moment, taking in his posture - Clint had braced his forearms on his knees, his eyes trained on the ropes wrapped around his wrists. Phil tied an overhand knot with the free-hanging lengths of the rope, cording it and tying off the other end again to make it easier to manage.

He sat back down in the armchair and gently tugged on the corded rope. Clint slid to his knees until he was bracketed on either side by Phil's legs. Phil pressed down on the back of Clint's neck until his forehead was resting on Phil's thigh, causing Clint to heave a great sigh and all the tension to drain from his shoulders. Phil ran his hands gently through Clint's hair, waiting until Clint was ready.

After several minutes, Clint gave another sigh and eased back out of Phil's hands until he was sitting on his heels, gaze fixed on the floor. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Wait," Phil said, reaching forward and cupping Clint's jaw. "I know you don't want to right now but I need to check in. Can you look up for me, sweetheart?"

Clint flicked his eyes upwards and held Phil's gaze for several moments before dropping them again. His eyes were clear and his pupils a normal size. Phil swept his thumb across Clint's cheek.

"Good," he said. "Color, Clint?"

"Green, sir," Clint said. His voice was still quiet but stronger than it had been before.

Phil dropped his hand from Clint's cheek, giving him some space. "Clint," he said, "tell me why you want to be whipped."

There was a beat of silence. "I saw a picture of a woman," Clint said, "when I first started trying to learn about this. She had marks on her back." He shifted slightly on his knees. "I'd seen some other marks already, from canes and needles, but I didn't like those. They just looked painful."

Clint fell silent. "But her marks?" Phil prompted.

"They were beautiful. Clean and precise and - " Clint broke off.

His hands clenched. "If you want to whip me for the pain, I'll do it," he said. "I can take it."

Phil looked at this beautiful man in front of him who found it so difficult to ask for what he wanted. "No, Clint," Phil said gently. "That's not how this works. Tell me why you want to be whipped."

"It's going to sound stupid," Clint muttered.

"That could never be the case," said Phil.

Phil couldn't see Clint's facial expression, only the top of his head, dirty blond hair in disarray. Clint's voice was barely audible. "They looked like they'd been placed with love. And she looked even more beautiful because of them."

Phil grasped Clint's chin. "Look at me."

Clint's eyes flicked up to meet Phil's gaze. He looked determined, his jaw set, but wariness was in his eyes.

"I never, ever want to cause you pain," Phil said, emphasizing each word. He spread his fingers so they curled around Clint's neck and trailed his thumb down the column of Clint's throat. "But I would be honored if you would wear my marks."

A grin grew on Clint's face, small and shy. "Sir," he said, ducking his head.

Phil continued his slow stroking of Clint's throat. "It does hurt though," he said softly. "I don't want you to try to take it. You need to safeword if you need to."

He ignored the niggling doubt that they were doing too much, moving too fast. Clint looked so content just at the thought of Phil marking him; Phil wanted to give that to him. Phil did miss it: the crack of the whip and the satisfaction of a well-placed line. Audrey had enjoyed flogging but it just didn't have that same sensory impact.

Clint nodded, his deep blue eyes serious. "I will, sir," he promised, "but I don't think it will be a problem."

Phil stopped moving his thumb, keeping his hand around Clint's neck. "Why not?"

Clint stretched his neck, subtly nuzzling into Phil's grip until Phil, with a wry grin, resumed the sweeping strokes of his thumb. Clint let out a happy sigh. "Because they'll be yours," he murmured, his eyelids falling shut.

*

"I sent you to Abidjan for recon! RECON!" Fury shouted. "Do you know what that means?"

The three agents in the room wisely stayed silent.

Fury stood and rested his palms on his desk, leaning forward. "It means," he said, "that you don't get kidnapped," gesturing to Phil, "injured," he pointed to Romanoff, "or blow up a building!" He finished by slamming his fist on the table.

"To be fair," Clint said, "that building was where Coulson was captured and Nat was hurt. It was asking for it."

Phil swallowed a laugh. He was a little punchy after 36 hours with no sleep and pretty much everything was funny to him right now. He wondered when exactly Romanoff had become Nat to Clint.

Fury stared at Clint. "Do I look like I'm in a joking mood?" he said in disbelief.

"No, sir," Clint said quickly.

"It might interest you to know that there was something odd about the situation," Romanoff spoke up.

All three men turned to her. Even though she was nursing a badly sprained ankle, they hadn't heard a peep from her since the helicopter extraction.

"Considering current economic conditions in that country, there were too many weapons stockpiled in major government buildings," she said in a crisp, clear voice. "Plus, somebody knew we were there. Coulson's capture was too precise."

"What are you telling me, Romanoff?" Fury had focused all of his attention on her.

Romanoff returned his gaze. "At the very least, you have a new black arms dealer and an information leak. But at the moment, that country is on the brink of civil war." She raised an eyebrow. "I guess it's up to you to decide which is important."

"All of it," Fury said shortly. "You're dismissed. I'll have another assignment for you once Romanoff's healed."

They heard Hill's voice on the speakerphone as they left Fury's office: Romanoff swinging gracefully through the air on her crutches, Phil and Clint following at a more sedate pace.

Clint closed the door behind them once they reached Phil's office. Phil raised an eyebrow. "Something you need, Barton?"

Clint folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “It’s going to take a few weeks for Nat’s ankle to heal.” He met Phil’s gaze full on.

Phil regarded him in silence for a moment. He nodded. “Let me prepare,” he said.


	9. Chapter 9

"So you were hiding something kinky in the bedroom," Clint said, whistling when he saw the new addition to the living room.

Phil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I wasn't hiding it," he said. "It was just in storage under the bed."

It was a freestanding St. Andrew's cross, painted a glossy black. The crossed beams formed a large X and plush black padding with purple accents was attached to each. There were suede-lined cuffs attached to either end of the beams, for the ankles and wrists, and a leather strap in the center was designed to secure the waist.

Clint ran his fingers over the polished wood. "How many people have you tied to this?" he said teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows.

"No one," Phil said shortly, turning to check the gear laid out on the bookcase one more time. He rolled his shoulders, trying to dispel his feeling of unease.

Silence stretched between them. Phil glanced up. Clint was looking at him with an indecipherable look on his face. "No one?"

Phil leaned his hip against the bookcase and crossed his arms. "I used to go to public dungeons occasionally. Then I started seeing a submissive, Audrey, semi-regularly at her place. That's over now, obviously," he added.

"I've never brought anyone back here for this," Phil said. He nodded at the gear. "And I've maintained all of these but I've never used them on someone."

Clint trailed his fingers over the wood again, his touch lingering. "Why buy all this if you weren't going to use it?"

"There was alcohol involved when I bought the X-frame," Phil admitted. "And I did use the gear to practice before my sessions with Audrey."

Phil elected not to mention the lonely nights after a long, hard mission when coming home to an empty apartment was particularly heartbreaking. He would spend hours with his gear, imagining what it would be like to come home to someone already kneeling for him, ready for him to shower with love and affection. Phil would practice until both arms were practically shaking with fatigue and then, if he still couldn't sleep, he would pour all of his energy into baking.

He didn't tell Clint that he hoped this would be the first of many times he used these items with someone else.

Clint drew in a breath. "Sir," he said, his hand dropping away from the frame. Phil was glad; seeing Clint caress the dark wood was making his slacks uncomfortably tight and he needed to be able to concentrate.

Stepping closer to the bookcase, Clint raised his eyebrows at the number of objects assembled on it. "Some of those are not how I imagined whips to look," he said.

"That's because they're not," Phil said, picking one up. "Jumping straight into single tails is a little jarring. Warming up with floggers makes it more pleasurable." He handed it to Clint.

Clint took it by its glossy black handle that ended in a silver ball. He ran his fingers through the black tails. "Is this suede?" he asked.

Phil nodded. "That's what I'm going to start you with." His shoulders relaxed as he continued his explanation. He was very well-versed with floggers; they had been Audrey's toy of choice. "I have a nylon one here as well for a different sensation during the warm-up."

Clint set the flogger down on the bookcase and his gaze zeroed in on the coiled whip at the end. "Is that - ?" he said, reaching for it.

"I'm not starting you off with that," Phil said, his voice coming out harsher than intended. Clint blinked and looked at Phil, his arm paused in mid-reach. Phil picked up a different whip, purple suede flaring out from the wooden handle and then tapering down to a point. He cleared his throat. "This is a dragon tail whip. It's a little less intense. Here, feel it," he said, holding it out to Clint.

Clint didn't take it. His gaze sharpened and he looked at Phil more carefully. "Sir, is everything all right?"

Phil opened his mouth but nothing came out. This was the night when they would find out if they were truly compatible. Pulling out the X-frame earlier that day, Phil had acknowledged that his dominant urges were getting harder to ignore. He was becoming more ruthless at SHIELD, trying to use work as a poor substitute for an outlet. Even if Audrey hadn't accepted the chair in the Portland Symphony Orchestra, he had been thinking about finding another submissive, someone who could handle harder play. Suppressing his more extreme urges for decades was starting to take its toll.

With Clint, there was the possibility of so much more than just occasional play sessions. He could potentially have a true partner, one who understood every aspect of his life. But he didn't want to put that kind of pressure on Clint, who had just discovered this world. He deserved to go at his own pace, to sample all that it had to offer, and decide on his own what he wanted to do. 

"Sir?" Clint's brows furrowed.

Phil stared at Clint, unable to utter a word of reassurance. All he could see was the X-frame behind Clint. Phil set down the whip, turning and gripping the back of couch, his fingernails digging into the upholstery.

"Do you not want to do this?" Clint's voice was soft and hesitant.

Phil let out a harsh bark of laughter, his hands gripping the couch tighter. Oh, he wanted. He wanted to leave Clint a sobbing mess on that X-frame, whip marks and bruising kisses littering his back, come splattered across his front. He wanted to lash Clint to his bed and leave him on the edge for hours, to see just how much he could make Clint's cock leak without him coming. He wanted to decorate him from head to toe in his ropes and see just how flexible Clint's circus training had made him. He wanted Clint on his knees as he put leather around his throat and cinched it tight, making Clint his once and for all.

He wanted too much.

"I can go." The small note of hurt in Clint's voice shattered the rest of Phil's control.

He whirled and grabbed Clint's neck. Clint's eyes were wide and startled as Phil's mouth closed over his, his lips demanding entry, tongue swiping over the seam of Clint's lips. They parted on a gasp and Phil swept inside, devouring Clint's mouth, claiming every single inch. He manhandled Clint until his butt was resting on the back of the sofa and practically ripped open his jeans. Clint moaned into his mouth as Phil's hand closed around his rapidly hardening length and began moving at a punishing pace.

Within minutes, Clint's hips were thrusting upwards into Phil's grasp, his hands fisted in Phil's dress shirt. Phil ripped his mouth away from Clint's and pulled out every trick he had, wanting, needing Clint to come, to see him fly apart at least one more time. Clint's eyes rolled up towards the back of his head as he sped towards the edge, mouth open and temporarily incapable of uttering a sound. One of his hands thumped weakly at Phil's chest.

"Come," Phil ordered with a wicked twist of his wrist.

Clint did with a shout, come splattering his T-shirt. His body curled forward, his forehead coming to rest on Phil's shoulder, as he shuddered through his orgasm. Phil helped him through it, his own chest heaving as he struggled to wrestle back control. He let go of Clint's cock when he whimpered and twisted his neck to press a kiss to Clint's temple. Phil waited for Clint to recover, his inner voice coming up with increasingly inventive curses for himself as each minute passed.

"Was that the warm-up?" Clint finally murmured, his voice raspy. He eased backwards from Phil until he was sitting upright on the back of the sofa, his eyes hooded and pupils still dilated. Clint licked his kiss-swollen lips and Phil's cock leaped.

Phil forcibly took a step back. "We can't do this tonight," he said.

"What?" Clint's facial features twisted in bewilderment. "But - "

"Clint." Phil's voice cracked like a whip through the air. Clint jerked back in surprise, eyes wide. 

Phil balled his fists and gentled his voice. "Not tonight. I have very little control right now. If we tried to do this, one of us is going to get hurt.”

“Sir.” Clint nodded his head. He looked a little lost as to what to do next but then he set his feet on the floor and began to re-fasten his jeans.

Phil drew in a deep breath. He stepped closer and placed one hand on Clint’s arm. The musk floating up from Clint’s come made his head spin and him all too aware of his cock pressing against the seam of his pants, but he could never let Clint leave like this. “Stay,” he said, “for the weekend.”

Clint stopped moving. “Really?”

Phil nodded. “I want you here,” he said, unable to stop the possessive note from slipping into his voice. He ran his hand through Clint’s hair and cupped his jaw, capturing his mouth in a lingering kiss.

Closing his eyes, Phil rested his forehead against Clint’s. “If you still want to, we’ll try again later.” A shock of desire went through him when Clint’s exhale blew across his sensitized lips.

“Yes, sir,” Clint whispered.


	10. Chapter 10

Phil's heart thumped in his chest and he could feel the force of its beats all the way down in his cock. He drew in a breath, inhaling the scent of Clint, that bright tang of soap mixed with the deeper smell of his sweat and the musk of his come. He grabbed Clint's neck with both hands, his thumbs resting in front of Clint's ears, and licked at the seam of Clint's lips. They parted but Phil didn't accept the invitation just yet, nibbling at Clint's lips. Clint made a small noise in his throat but it was as loud as a firecracker to Phil.

He couldn't think, surrounded by Clint's scent. Phil tugged at Clint's lower lip with his teeth, just to hear that sound again, and then released it. "Clint," he said, gaze still trained on that plump lip. "Go get the condoms and lube."

Clint didn't move and it took Phil a moment to realize that he needed to let go. When Clint disappeared into the bedroom, Phil blew out a long breath. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he took a seat on the couch, not only because his legs suddenly felt weak but to get the damn X-frame out of his line of sight. He tried to organize his thoughts but the desire thrumming through him made it impossible. First things first, then.

Phil drew out his aching cock with a sigh, the first stroke of his fist causing him to let out a low groan. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, keeping his strokes long and slow.

"Holy shit."

Phil opened his eyes to see Clint standing in the doorway, holding lube in one hand and condoms in the other. Desire was paramount in Clint's eyes, pupils dilating as he stared at Phil’s moving fist, and Phil felt his own body temperature ratchet up in response.

“Take off your clothes,” Phil ordered, his voice deep. He squeezed the base of his dick as Clint hurried to comply, staving off his orgasm.

“Come here,” he said when Clint was completely naked. Clint did, dropping the lube and condoms on the sofa. Phil guided Clint until he was straddling him, one of Clint’s hands grabbing the back of the sofa for stability, the other resting over Phil’s heart. They kissed, Phil running his hands all over Clint’s body. To have Clint naked on top of him while he was still almost fully clothed made Phil’s heart race; he ran his hands up Clint’s back to his shoulders, pulling him down closer to him so that he could thrust his cock against Clint’s bare abdomen, leaving a smear of come behind. Clint moaned into Phil’s mouth.

Phil pulled back. “You’re going to prep yourself for me,” he said, running his thumb along Clint’s soft cock, causing it to twitch.

“Theoretically, I can do that,” Clint said, already reaching for the lube. “I never actually have before.”

“You know how big I am,” Phil said, giving his cock a stroke. Clint moaned at the sight, his hands slipping on the bottle of lube. “Keep going until you think you can take me.”

“And Clint?” Clint paused in the action of reaching back, his hand glistening with lube. Phil leaned forward and grabbed Clint’s ass, spreading the two cheeks apart. “Take your time,” he said, giving Clint a filthy grin.

“Fuck, sir.” Clint’s eyes were wild as he stared at Phil. He let out a moan as his own fingers breached inside and Phil squeezed his ass, feeling the muscles flex underneath his hands. Clint hung his head, his brow wrinkling as he moved the finger in and out. 

Phil let go and leaned back, enjoying the show as Clint worked himself open for him. Sweat trickled down his own neck; he felt like he was burning up in his clothes but he wanted to take Clint just like this. “How are you doing?” he asked after several minutes, noting the frown still marring Clint’s forehead.

“I like it better when you do this, sir,” Clint said.

Phil ran a hand down Clint’s back to the base of his spine where he could feel the swell of Clint’s ass. “Relax,” he said softly. “Imagine what it’s going to feel like when I have my cock buried deep inside of you.” His other hand rested on Clint’s thigh, his thumb swiping across the sensitive skin near the crease.

“Do you know how good you feel, Clint?” Clint’s eyes were wide, pupils so dilated that they almost swallowed the blue of his eyes. His forehead was relaxed, his mouth slack, as he waited for Phil to continue. “So hot and tight. It’s like your ass was custom-made for this.”

“For you, sir,” Clint gasped out, his hips thrusting forwards. His cock was starting to fill again.

“For me,” Phil agreed, his voice low and dark. His fingers drifted down until he could feel where Clint was moving in and out. He traced around the edge of Clint’s pucker, gathering some of the lube there before he pushed the tip of his index finger just inside.

Clint’s breath stuttered and he let out a broken moan. “Please, sir,” he said. “Please fuck me, please.”

“Turn around.” Phil grabbed a condom and quickly rolled it onto his cock, adding more lube. He mourned not being able to see Clint’s face but the sight of his ass engulfing Phil’s cock was not one to be missed. They let out simultaneous groans as Clint sank down, Phil biting his lip as pleasure swept through him. He held onto Clint’s hips tightly as he bottomed out, reveling in how well they fit together. Phil waited for Clint to adjust.

“So,” Clint slurred, “good, sir.” Phil’s cock twitched inside Clint at the sound of his voice and he gave a questioning thrust of his hips. Clint moaned, his voice thick with pleasure and he sagged forward slightly.

Phil wrapped one arm around Clint’s waist and thrust again. Clint only let out another moan, his body lax. Phil slowly increased the pace of his thrusts, soft grunts accompanying them. Clint moved wherever Phil placed him, voicing his pleasure with gasps and moans. Sweat dampened Phil’s collar as he thrust upwards, holding Clint’s legs open with his hands, and feeling Clint tight around him. It wasn’t enough though and he soon got frustrated with the position.

Clint whined when Phil pulled out completely. Phil maneuvered them until Clint was draped over the oversized arm of the sofa, his ass high in the air. Phil sank back into him with a low groan, the new position allowing him to thrust hard and deep. Clint’s perfectly round asscheeks bounced with every thrust and Phil watched them, mesmerized. He ran his hands over them and squeezed them tight.

“God, Clint.” Phil squeezed Clint’s ass again. “I want to - “ he broke off with a moan as he thrust deep.

Clint gasped. “Anything, sir,” he said. “Anything.”

A sharp smack rent the air. Clint jerked forward and then pushed himself back on Phil’s cock even more. “Yes,” he said, rolling his hips into Phil’s thrusts. “Yes, yes, yes!”

The skin of Clint’s right asscheek was rapidly reddening. Phil stared at it, fascinated as the redness spread. His left hand raised up and landed on Clint’s other cheek, giving it a matching mark. Clint’s cries only grew louder and his movements more frantic.

“Clint,” Phil whispered. Without warning, his orgasm rushed through him and he drove his hips forward again and again as waves of pleasure rolled over him. He felt it everywhere, to the tips of his fingers and toes, even at the very top of his skull. He slumped over Clint, hands braced on the sofa, his breaths ragged. For the first time that evening, he felt empty and calm.

Phil became aware of Clint shifting underneath him, whimpers falling from his lips. He pulled out slowly but Clint still let out a small moan. Phil drew Clint upwards and turned him around. Clint’s chest was heaving, his eyes desperate and his cock hard and leaking precome. It curved upwards towards his belly, the large vein on the underside prominent.

Clint gripped Phil’s forearms. “Please,” he said, his words little more than breath.

Phil slid to his knees and grasped Clint’s hips. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he said and swallowed Clint down to the root.

Clint let out a sharp cry and the taste of salt burst over Phil’s tongue. He rode out Clint’s thrusts and swallowed down every drop, his tongue swiping across Clint’s length. Clint’s cries tapered off, his cock softening. Phil pulled back but remained on his knees.

He pressed his forehead against Clint’s hip as a swell of emotion rose in him. Clint’s hands skimmed over his shoulders. “Sir?”

Phil couldn’t move. He knew he should get up and make certain that Clint was okay but he just needed a moment to get it together.

“Come on, sir.” Clint reached down and hooked his hands underneath Phil’s underarms, hauling him to his feet with brute strength.

Phil shook his head and blinked, clearing his vision and focusing in on Clint’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said, straightening up and running his hand through Clint’s hair. “Are you - “

Clint interrupted him. “I’m fine,” he said, his eyes narrowed in concern. “How about we focus on you, sir?”

Phil opened his mouth and closed it again without saying anything.

“Right, let’s go.” Clint guided him into the bedroom. Phil got rid of the used condom and cleaned up, stripping off his clothes. Clint had turned down the bed and dimmed the lights, leaving a single lamp burning, when he returned from the bathroom. Clint waited until Phil got into bed and clicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Clint curled up behind Phil, wrapping his arm around him. He felt warm against Phil’s back and Phil reached up to grasp Clint’s forearm. Phil stared out into the darkness, trying to sort through all the thoughts in his head.

“Sleep, sir,” Clint said, pressing a kiss to Phil’s shoulder. “We’ll talk in the morning.”


	11. Chapter 11

Phil rested his hands on the kitchen counter, his shoulders rounded and hunched over. He glared at the timer, willing it to speed up, but it continued its slow, steady, countdown. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose and he pushed them up, yawning as he did so. The smell of roasted coffee beans filled the air, tantalizing him with promises of nirvana. He heard shuffling noises in the bedroom as the scent grew stronger.

Finally, the coffeemaker beeped and Phil snatched the carafe from its resting place, pouring the steaming liquid into his waiting coffee mug. He poured a second cup as the shuffling noises came closer to the kitchen and was about to take a sip when Clint came into view.

His blond hair was in total disarray, a bright red pillow mark adorned his left cheek, and his eyes weren’t open even a little. Yet, he moved unerringly towards the waiting mug and picked it up without spilling a drop. Clint took a sip and the moan that came out of his mouth was truly indecent. Phil finally took his first sip of the brew and had to swallow his own groan as the full-bodied roast burst into flavor over his tongue. They both drained their mugs in less than a minute and Phil poured them each another.

Towards the end of the second cup, he felt his neurons starting to wake up. Clint was still making pornographic sounds into his mug, eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Affection warmed Phil as he watched Clint finish off his own mug and open his eyes. In the early morning light, the green and hazel hues in his eyes were even more prominent and for a moment, Phil lost himself in their beauty. Clint blinked at him and Phil hurriedly drained the rest of his mug.

“So,” Clint’s voice was still a little scratchy from sleep, “I don’t think I’ve ever said this before in a relationship but we need to talk.”

Phil refilled both their mugs without speaking and then moved towards the couch. They sat on opposite ends, Phil leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees and Clint curled up against the opposite sofa arm.

Phil rubbed his thumb over the faded label on his coffee mug. He’d lain awake long after Clint’s breaths had deepened in sleep, trying to figure out exactly how to put his thoughts into words. In the end, there was really no good way to say it. He forced himself to look at Clint, who gazed back at him expectantly. “I think we should end this.”

Clint’s mouth dropped open. “What?” he said, his voice high-pitched and incredulous.

“I want us to still be able to work together. I think it’s best that we end this now before things get out of hand.” He struggled to form each word and it was only by calling on his Agent Coulson persona that he could get even get through it at all.

Clint ran a hand through his hair. “Okay.” He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, normally I would just say yeah, sure, and take off. But Coulson,” he said, “what the hell?”

“I lost control,” Phil said. Shame spiked in him and his neck warmed. He had to get Clint to understand.

Clint raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure that you did,” he said slowly, “although something did happen to you.”

Phil shook his head. “We shouldn’t have done anything last night,” he said, his voice low. “I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be Domming.”

“Okay, we’ll talk about that in a second but I just want to say this first.” Clint leaned forward, his eyes intent on Phil’s. “I enjoyed everything we did last night. What I’m enjoying less is whatever has you beating yourself up and thinking that we should break up.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, wasn’t it obvious I was into it? I didn’t safeword - “

“It’s not just about safewords!” Phil interrupted. Every time he thought about his actions the previous night, that feeling of shame only grew. “As a Dom, I’m supposed to know what my submissive is feeling. Not just from their words but from their body language and how they react to what I’m doing.” He stared down into the dark brown liquid. “If you hadn’t liked what I was doing last night, I don’t know if I would have stopped.”

“I repeat, Coulson, what the hell?” Phil looked up. Clint looked furious, his brows drawn together and eyes blazing. “Of course you would have! I trust you - “

“I didn’t before.”

Clint stopped short. “What?”

Phil was gripping the mug so tightly that his knuckles had whitened. “I’ve lost control before,” he said, “and the relationship didn’t end well. I want us to at least part as colleagues, if not friends.”

“You’re going to have to explain that,” Clint said quietly.

Phil loosened his grip on the mug and set it down on the coffee table. To give himself some time, he went to the kitchen and poured two glasses of water. There was a part of him that just wanted Clint to go. This was just drawing everything out, prolonging the pain that had already set up an unwelcome residence in his chest. He’d known from the beginning that it wasn’t going to last. He thought that if he took things slow, it would be different. But Fury had been right. This was going down the same path as last time and it would be better for both of them in the long run if he just ended it now. But he did feel like he owed Clint an explanation. He was the one who crossed that line between them months ago after all, when he’d practically propositioned Clint during that phone call.

Phil brought the glasses of water over to the couch, handing one to Clint before sitting down. He set his own glass down on the coffee table, between Clint’s empty mug and his own half-filled one.

“I was recruited to SHIELD just out of high school,” he began, looking at his clasped hands. Phil wished he were wearing his contacts rather than his glasses; he always felt more vulnerable with his glasses on. “I’d known for years that I was bisexual but I didn’t date while I was in school. I was too driven, too focused on doing some sort of good in this world.”

Phil looked at Clint. He was listening intently, his expression carefully blank.

“After six months at SHIELD, I started dating one of my fellow recruits. He was only a couple of years older than me and very, very charming. I was flattered that he’d even noticed me,” Phil said wryly, “and our relationship moved pretty quickly. After a couple of months, he confessed that he liked a little pain with his pleasure and he wondered if we could try something like that.”

“He introduced you to BDSM,” Clint said.

Phil nodded. “I’d never heard of it before then but it instantly appealed to me. We spent the next few months trying out things together.”

He was intentionally skipping over details. The longer Clint stayed in his apartment, the more the pain in his chest grew. The kind of relationship he imagined with Clint was a fantasy, nothing more. All he had to do was to get Clint to understand that too and then he could get on with the business of trying to get over him.

“One night,” Phil said, “we had an intense play session. I did the appropriate aftercare and I thought everything was fine between us. But the next day Fury called me into his office.”

Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“He wasn’t the Director then, just our S.O.” Phil squeezed his hands together. The embarrassment he’d felt then had faded over the years but it still wasn’t a memory he liked to revisit. “He’d told Fury that over the course of our relationship, I’d slowly convinced him to do things that he hadn’t really wanted to do. He’d said I had gone too far the previous night and then he’d shown Fury what I’d done.”

Under the fluorescent lights and after having the night to blossom, the bruises and whip marks had looked particularly ugly. They’d covered his back and extended down to his buttocks. When he’d been placing them, Phil hadn’t thought about what they would look like to someone else.

“What did Fury do?” Clint’s voice startled him from his reverie.

Phil let out a humorless chuckle. “Fury’s not an idiot,” he said. “This all happened when we were closing in on the end of our first year.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “When the probationary period ends.”

Phil nodded. “He and I far outranked the other members of our recruitment group. I was his only real competition.” He shook his head. “I don’t know whether he planned it the entire time or it was simply convenient for him to use but either way, it was sloppily done. Fury called me into his office and asked me point blank whether I’d intentionally ignored his safeword; of course I hadn’t. Although, before that, I didn’t even know Fury knew anything about BDSM.”

“Yeah,” Clint grimaced, “I really didn’t need to know that about Fury.”

A real chuckle escaped Phil this time but he quickly sobered. “Fury told him that he didn’t see anything that would warrant disciplinary action and dismissed us. We broke up, obviously.”

He took a sip of water, his throat suddenly feeling dry and tight. “That night, I let go completely and lost myself in what I was doing. What if there was some truth in what he said? What if I did actually push him too far? I should have known something was off with him. I should have seen it. But I didn’t.”

Phil set down the glass and looked at his hands. He clenched them tight. “I told myself that I would never let myself lose control like that again,” he said, “but I did last night. I don’t want to hurt you, Clint.”

Silence fell between them.

“Let me get this straight.” The amount of anger in Clint’s voice startled Phil and he looked up. Emotion blazed in Clint’s eyes and his jaw was clenched tight. “I get that you might have trust issues after having such a shitty experience but are you seriously comparing me to your asshole ex-boyfriend?”

Phil gaped. “What?” He shook his head, his thoughts suddenly jumbled. “No, I - ”

“I trust you.” Clint emphasized each word. “I trust you to respect my limits. I trust you to push me only as far as I can handle. I trust you to bring me out of subdrop,” he said, flinging the words at Phil with deadly accuracy.

“But clearly, you don’t trust me to tell you when I’ve had enough. And you don’t trust me not to use all this,” he waved his hand to encompass the X-frame and the gear still lying on the bookcase, “against you.”

A muscle ticked in Clint’s jaw. “So I guess you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Phil’s heart sank. He’d thought that by ending this sooner rather than later, he’d spare Clint from pain but it was clear that that wasn’t the case. Hurt shined from Clint’s eyes and Phil hadn’t needed a whip to put it there.

“Clint,” Phil said, “I’m sor- ”

Clint interrupted him. “So we take BDSM off the table.”

Phil blinked. “What?”

Clint looked off to the side, avoiding Phil’s gaze. “I pushed you,” he said. “You wanted us to date first but I pushed for this. I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said in your office.”

He looked back at Phil. “If you really want to stop, we can do that. But I want you, sir. I want this to work. I’m willing to try.” Clint rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve never really tried in a relationship before.”

Phil stared at him. Hope blossomed in his chest, pushing away the pain. He could feel that old hurt receding, replaced by something new and fragile.

“Clint.” He couldn’t utter anything else but really, that was the only word that mattered.

Clint must have heard something in his voice or seen something in his eyes because he moved closer to Phil. His hands came up to frame Phil’s face and Clint pressed his lips against Phil’s. Their lips moved together softly and sweetly, until Phil felt his heart quicken and he felt dizzy from lack of air. They broke apart.

Clint rested his forehead against Phil’s. “This time,” he said, “we really will take it slow.”


	12. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been commenting throughout this story and every other story in the Perchance to Dream series; it has been truly inspirational! I'm so glad people are enjoying this series.
> 
> This chapter was originally going to be the epilogue but I've got more story ideas so it's now the beginning of Part 2 of _Awakening_!

"Taking it slow seems an awful lot like you pampering me." Clint's voice was drowsy. He let out another groan as Phil dug into the muscles underneath Clint's shoulder blade, where he knew Clint got especially tight.

Phil smiled to himself and reached for more massage lotion. "I'm enjoying your company," he said. "Turn over."

"I'm not complaining," Clint said as he rolled onto his back. His hard cock bobbed against his stomach. "Good food, cuddling, massages - "

Phil licked a stripe up Clint's cock from the root to the tip.

Clint's entire body tensed and he let out a surprised grunt. "Okay," he said, his voice strained. "There is one thing."

Phil eyed Clint's cock critically as it twitched. He nodded to himself as Clint loosened his grip on the bed sheet and began to rub the lotion into the arch of Clint's foot. "Yes?"

Clint let out a moan as Phil's thumb pressed into the ball of his foot. "It just seems," his voice had a breathless note to it, "that what you're doing is a little counterproductive."

"Is it?" Phil's tone was one of complete disinterest. "Maybe I'm getting you ready for the prostate massager again. You seemed to like that."

Clint's cock jerked again and a drop of precome slid down its length. "Oh god," he moaned, his eyes wide. "Seriously?"

"Hmm." Phil kept his expression neutral even as amusement bubbled up inside him. "I do have a different one," he said, switching to the other foot. "It vibrates."

This time, Clint's cock jerked twice as more precome slid down it. Clint threw his arm over his face. "I've changed my mind," he said, his voice muffled. "You're trying to kill me."

Now that the list was no longer hanging over the heads, Phil felt a lot more relaxed. He was genuinely enjoying Clint's company in a way that he hadn't been able to before and he was taking full advantage by teasing Clint mercilessly for the past two and a half weeks, but not letting him come. Romanoff's ankle was almost healed and Fury was trying to figure out where to send Strike Team Delta next; Phil knew that Clint was wondering whether he'd let him come at all before they got shipped out on their next mission.

"Color, Clint?" Phil was pretty sure of what Clint was going to say but it never hurt to check in.

"So, so green." Clint mumbled.

"Maybe I'll just use my fingers," Phil continued as if there had been no interruption. He slid his hands to Clint's calf. "You know, for that personal touch."

"I'm pretty sure if you breathed on me right now," Clint said, "I would come."

"I don't think so," Phil said. "I think you'll wait for me."

Clint dropped his arm and propped himself up on his elbows so that he could look Phil straight in the eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I will."

Phil stared into Clint's eyes, momentarily thrown. The air hung heavy between them and Phil's breath stopped in his lungs. Then the moment broke, Clint dropping back down onto the bed while Phil reached for more massage lotion.

"What about you?" Clint's voice cracked halfway through. "Have you been celibate this whole time?"

"As soon as you leave, I bring myself off to thoughts of all the ways I'm going to make you come." Phil swept his thumbs across the sensitive creases of Clint's thighs. "Maybe I'll call and let you listen next time."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Clint chanted, his hips thrusting fruitlessly in the air. "How is this my life?" he moaned.

In the end, Phil sent him home, still hard, with a wet, open-mouthed kiss and a slap on the ass.

They did actually try being completely vanilla for a couple of days but Domination was too much a part of Phil and Clint was too curious about submission for them to shelve that aspect of their relationship completely. Now they were exploring that world at a pace that Phil felt much more comfortable with. With the X-frame, floggers, and whips back in storage, the sense of urgency had fallen away and now their play sessions truly felt like play.

Phil changed into his sleep clothes and climbed into bed, dousing the lights. He slipped his hand into his pants and slid it up and down his partially erect shaft, groaning as his cock hardened and lengthened. With every gasp, moan, and encouraging word Clint uttered, Phil could feel that old ball of hurt in him heal just a little bit more. He was starting to believe that maybe his relationship with Clint could last. Maybe this would be his first truly fulfilling relationship.

He paused his strokes to gather some lube on his fingertips. Raising one leg, he circled his hole, mouth falling open slightly as sparks skittered up his spine. Phil slowly pushed one finger in, resuming the long strokes on his cock to help him relax. He wanted to show Clint just how much he cared about him and how much it meant to him to have this second chance. A pang went through his heart every time he remembered how close he'd been to losing Clint.

Phil added a second finger and he rocked his hips up with a gasp. There was a little bit of a burn but he had been stretching himself all week so it quickly faded. Clint was starting to look rather desperate. He’d clutched at Phil’s arms during their goodbye kiss and hadn’t seemed to be able to stop grinding his hard cock against Phil’s thigh. Phil scissored his fingers and increased the speed of his hand on his own cock, rocking back and forth between the two. It should be tomorrow. That was the last thought Phil had before his world splintered into white.

*

Clint was practically vibrating with need when he showed up at Phil's the next night. Phil gave him a deep, unhurried kiss, palming Clint's ass. Clint was already hard and he immediately pressed himself against Phil's thigh.

"You've been so patient," Phil murmured against Clint's lips.

"Please," Clint gasped. "I can't - " He broke off as he rolled his hips in a move that should really be outlawed. "Just, please."

"None of that," Phil said, stepping back. Clint's desperation rolled off of him and Phil could feel his own cock start to fill as he took in Clint's wide eyes and bitten lips. "Dinner first."

Clint whimpered.

Phil made sure to take his time through the simple meal of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. He needed Clint to not be so on edge if this was going to work. After two glasses of wine to Phil's half a glass, Clint had relaxed somewhat, although need still shined in his eyes.

"I'm going to clean up the dishes," Phil said, rising from his seat. "Take off your clothes and lie on your back on the bed."

Clint hurried into the bedroom while Phil loaded the dishwasher. Phil took a moment to drink some water, giving Clint a little extra time to cool down.

Phil had to pause in the doorway at the sight of Clint lying on his bed. He never tired of seeing all that hard-earned muscle on display just for him. This man had, inch by inch, crept his way into his heart and it thudded in his chest as he thought about what he planned to do tonight. Phil closed the door behind him, leaving a single table lamp for illumination.

When he drew closer to the bed, Clint looked away from the ceiling. His gaze slammed into Phil, that laser focus that never failed to make Phil lose his breath. This time was no exception; it stuttered as his heart started up a wild rhythm. He had no idea what was in his own expression but whatever it was made tension drain out of Clint, leaving him relaxed against the sheets with the tip of his hard cock resting against his belly.

Phil reached for a coil of rope.

He drew Clint's arm towards him, trailing his fingers from his shoulder to his wrist. Phil twisted the ropes in his hands, forming a double loop and slipping it onto Clint’s wrist. He tightened the knot and tied the rest of the rope to the bedpost. Phil did the same to Clint’s ankle, trailing his hand down from Clint’s hip, before moving to the other side and repeating his actions.

When he was done, Clint’s limbs were stretched towards each corner of the bed, although not tight enough to cause pain or discomfort. Neither had made a sound while Phil was tying Clint down but Clint drew in a swift breath when Phil began to unbutton his shirt. Their gazes locked as Phil shrugged off his dress shirt and went to work on his pants. As Phil removed his clothes, he allowed his mental shields to fall away, one by one.

He shivered once when he was completely naked, not from cold but from intentionally letting every single aspect of Agent Coulson to fall away. Phil moved closer to the bed and rested one knee onto it. Leaning down, he put one hand over Clint’s heart. Clint’s chest rose and fell underneath his palm and Clint licked his lips. This close, Phil could still make out the green and hazel flecks in Clint’s blue eyes although his irises were almost swallowed by his pupils.

Phil leaned down and brushed his lips against Clint’s. He kept the kiss light, teasing Clint with soft presses, small licks, and gentle nips until Clint strained against the ropes, chasing Phil’s lips with his own. Grabbing the lube and dropping it on the bed, Phil straddled Clint, shifting towards the head of the bed until the tip of his cock was resting on Clint’s lips. With one hand wrapped around the base, he guided his cock inside Clint’s mouth. Clint held Phil’s gaze, eyes hooded, as he licked around the head.

As Clint licked and sucked, Phil surreptitiously reached down and coated his fingers with lube. He leaned forward, bracing himself against the headboard with one hand while he reached back with the other. The position allowed more of his cock to slip into Clint’s mouth and Phil let out a soft moan as Clint took full advantage. Clint pulled back to take in a deep breath and his eyes fell on Phil’s other arm.

“Sir?” he said, eyes locked on Phil’s arm moving rhythmically back and forth.

Phil pulled his fingers free and quickly rolled a condom onto Clint. He rubbed more lube over the condom and positioned himself over Clint.

“Sir?”

Phil looked at Clint. He was staring back at him, eyes wide in disbelief. “Color, Clint?”

Clint swallowed. “Green, sir,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But if you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do, I’m not sure how long I’m going to last.”

Phil started to slide down Clint’s length. “Wait for me, Clint,” he said, bracing himself with one hand over Clint’s heart.

Clint let out a low, long moan. “Fuck, sir,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’ll try.”

Phil felt like he was burning up. He rocked back and forth, working more and more of Clint inside of him. It had been a very long time since he’d done this last and every inch made heat pool low in his belly. Clint helpfully kept his hips still although Phil could feel the tension thrumming through his body as he fought against the urge to thrust. When Clint was fully inside, Phil drew in a shuddering breath, his head hanging low.

He felt full. Not just where Clint’s cock was setting his nerve endings on fire but every bit of him felt like it was sparking to life. All his defenses were down and the emotions running through him were making it hard to breathe.

Phil moved instead, raising up and sliding down Clint’s cock, letting out a loud groan as pleasure zinged through his body. One hand slid along his own length and he leaned forward, resting his other hand on the bed.

“Please, sir,” Clint gritted out. “Let me make you feel good.”

“Clint,” Phil whispered, staring into his brilliant eyes.

“Sir,” Clint said and snapped his hips. Phil moaned, his hand moving faster. Clint thrust hard and fast and Phil felt pleasure spiraling higher and higher within him.

“Come with me,” Phil managed to gasp out, moments before his orgasm hit. Clint’s thrusts grew faster and sloppier as he groaned underneath Phil and Phil closed his eyes tight as he felt Clint’s cock jerk inside him.

They both stilled, breathing harshly. When Phil had feeling in his limbs again, he slid off of Clint, who let out a small moan. Phil’s legs were a little shaky when he set them on the ground but he was able to keep upright. He untied Clint’s limbs and Clint shuffled off to the bathroom.

Phil rested both hands against the bed, struggling to rein in his emotions. He hadn’t quite managed before Clint returned so he slipped into his boxers, hoping the clothing would help. Phil waited until Clint got into bed before clicking off the table lamp and climbing in himself. When he pulled the sheets over him, Clint immediately curled into his side.

He wrapped his arm tight around Clint’s shoulders. Clint let out a pleased sound and moved closer, throwing his leg over Phil’s thigh.

“I love you.”

It slipped out before Phil consciously knew he was going to say it. That was the emotion filling up every inch of him, mixed with affection and pride and hope for the future. This had been building for months, maybe even years.

Clint’s breaths had already deepened. The words were so soft that it would have been understandable if Clint hadn’t heard them. Except they were lying so close together that Phil felt it when Clint suddenly tensed before forcibly relaxing.

Phil blinked and stared at the ceiling. “Oh.”


	13. Chapter 13

Despite the warmth of Clint pressed against his side, Phil suddenly felt cold. All thoughts had been chased from his head. He forced himself to keep breathing in and out at the same tempo.

A long moment passed. “Fuck,” Clint muttered. He lifted his head from where it lay on Phil’s chest. “Coulson?”

Phil slipped his arm from around Clint’s shoulders and sat up, swinging his legs to hang off the side of the bed. He gripped the edge, feeling the motion as Clint sat up as well.

“That’s - ” Clint’s voice trailed away.

Phil stood up and moved to the dresser. He pulled on a T-shirt and his sleep pants and walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. He paused in the kitchen, contemplating the hot cocoa powder for a moment before opening a cabinet and reaching for the Scotch instead. He splashed a double shot into a tumbler and took a sip, relishing the burn as it slipped down his throat.

The bedroom door opened and Clint appeared, clad in his T-shirt and boxers. Phil didn’t move from where he leaned against the kitchen counter.

Clint mirrored his position on the opposite side. He regarded Phil in silence for a moment before sighing. “That’s a big word, Coulson.”

Phil took another sip. He hoped the burn would help to chase away the empty feeling inside of him.

Clint rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t really know what to say here.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Phil said. His voice was a low monotone. “The point of saying I love you is not to get a response back.”

“But you wanted me to,” Clint said.

Phil remained silent. He took a larger swallow of his Scotch, willing it to kick in faster.

“Everything’s been so good between us lately,” Clint said, his voice pleading. “Can’t we just keep doing what we’re doing?” Clint gave him a lopsided grin although Phil could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “Taking it slow, right?”

“Right.” Phil set the glass down with a sharp clink, the amber liquid sloshing inside. “I’m going to bed,” he said, moving back towards the bedroom.

“You’re angry with me,” Clint murmured as Phil walked past him.

Phil couldn’t help but stop. He threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Clint’s neck. Clint bowed his head. “I’m not,” he said softly, before dropping his hand.

He moved back to the bedroom and slipped under the covers, curling up to one side of the bed. He purposefully deepened his breaths, making them long and slow, trying to will himself to sleep. At least an hour passed before Clint re-entered the bedroom. Phil felt the bed dip as Clint got into the other side.

There was no movement for several minutes. Then Phil felt the ghost of a touch along his back. He gave no indication that he felt the touch and it dropped away.

Phil lay awake long after he was sure Clint had fallen asleep, staring out into the darkness.

*

Phil pushed open the door to the gym on the base, just as Clint’s laughter rang across the room, free and easy.

There were a few agents using the weight machines and free weights along the mirrored back wall of the gym. In the left corner, a female agent punched and kicked a heavy bag while another agent ran, her long dreadlocks bouncing with every step, on one of the treadmills located on the right side of the room. In the center was a large area of gym mats designating a sparring area, although no one was sparring at the moment.

Romanoff was in a full split, her torso stretched forward on the mat with her chin propped on the palms of her hands. Clint was shirtless, balanced in a one-handed handstand, his other arm stretched out to the side. Romanoff said something to him and he laughed again, his abs flexing with the motion.

Phil stopped. Suddenly, he felt every single one of his forty-six years. How could he possibly think that such a remarkable man could fall in love with him? At least Clint hadn't run screaming from his pronouncement. Maybe that would just have to be enough. It’s not as if the life of a SHIELD agent was a particularly long-lived one; he should be content with what little happiness he could manage to grab for himself.

He ruthlessly pushed the feelings aside. This was SHIELD, not his apartment, and they had a job to do.

“Barton. Romanoff,” he said. Clint lowered his legs to the ground while Romanoff fluidly rose to her feet. “Fury wants to see us in his office.”

He led them down the hallways of the SHIELD base, decidedly not listening to the conversation between the two agents behind him. Judging by the way Clint was dominating it, Romanoff's contributions seemed to consist largely of facial expressions anyway. They entered Fury's office to find him talking on the phone, a conversation which he quickly wrapped up.

"Strike Team Delta has been shelved for now. I need to send you out on different missions," Fury said.

He pressed a button on his desk and a glass panel descended from the ceiling. An image of a man appeared on it. His black hair was short and spiked and his facial hair trimmed into a unique goatee. Challenge shone from his eyes and his lips were tilted in a smirk.

"I'm sure you know all about Tony Stark's capture last year and his public announcement of being Iron Man." Fury's voice was clearly irritated. "We've just received word that he's planning on naming Pepper Potts as CEO and has sold his entire art collection for charity."

Phil raised his eyebrows. "That's out of character, even for him."

"Exactly." Fury said. "Romanoff, I want you to find out what's going on over there. With Pepper being promoted to CEO, Stark is going to need a new PA. Use any means at your disposal to get information without drawing attention to yourself."

Fury leveled a penetrating stare at Romanoff. "Stark responds well to flirting," he said, "but this is not a honeypot mission."

Romanoff nodded, her expression completely neutral.

"What he's saying is that we like Pepper," Phil said. "It's a shame Stark comes attached."

"Coulson," Fury said. "Bring Romanoff up to speed on what you know about Stark, including his company dealings and personnel. I may have to send you out there as well, depending on what we find out."

Fury pressed the button again. The image changed to one of an unassuming man with greying curly hair and a sad, lost expression in his eyes.

"Dr. Bruce Banner," Fury said. "He's been on the run for the past six years, ever since he turned himself into what the Army has been calling the Hulk."

He brought up another picture. This one was little more than a blur but it showed something that looked vaguely humanoid, although taller than the average man with massive muscles.

"I classified him as a secondary priority four years ago and we've had some unconfirmed sightings since then. The Army managed to find him in Brazil and are intent on hunting him down. Barton, I want you to work with R&D on a tranquilizer arrow strong enough to sedate him."

"Are we bringing him in?" Clint said.

"If possible," Fury said. "At the very least, I don't want the Army to get their hands on him."

"Barton, Romanoff," Fury addressed each one in turn. "Because of the nature of these missions, you've both been promoted to level 6. You're dismissed."

Both nodded and left Fury's office. Phil waited until the door closed behind them before speaking.

"Both of them?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Something's coming, Phil," Fury said. His gaze bore into Phil. "Something big."

"You've got intel?"

"A feeling," Fury said.

Phil pushed down the rising sense of dread. "Your feelings are rarely wrong." It was what made Fury such a good director. It seemed like he could always think five steps ahead of everyone else.

"You're now level 7 but keep it quiet," Fury said, linking his fingers together. Phil blinked. He couldn't even enjoy his sudden promotion, knowing Fury thought there was a threat of something sinister on the horizon. "I'm sending you out there with Romanoff but don't make contact right away. I want you to evaluate her for the Avengers Initiative."

"She just became a SHIELD agent less than three months ago," Phil said incredulously. "The ink is barely dry on her contract."

"We're going to need her," Fury said, a far off look in his eye. Not for the first time, Phil wondered whether the rumors about him being clairvoyant had some basis in truth. "Along with Stark, Banner," Fury focused in on Phil again, "and Barton."

Phil nodded. "Barton would be a valuable asset to the Avengers Initiative," he said evenly.

"Cut the crap, Phil," Fury said, turning the full force of his gaze on him. "Do we have a problem here?"

Phil debated whether to say anything but, in the end, there was no one else he trusted with the information. "Last night, I told him I love him," he admitted, keeping the same even tone, "and he didn't say it back."

"Shit." The look in Fury's eye was almost kind. "What do you need?"

"I would appreciate being kept busy," Phil said.

"Done." Fury handed Phil a tablet. "All the latest intel about Stark and Iron Man are on here. Fill in any gaps for Romanoff and then begin evaluating her for the Avengers Initiative."

"Tailing the infamous Black Widow." Phil took the tablet. "Should be fun."


	14. Chapter 14

“We have a complication," Phil said, when Fury's face appeared on the laptop screen. He sat at the head of the dining room table in one of SHIELD's Malibu safe houses, a steaming cup of coffee close at hand.

"The whole damn world saw our complication," Fury grumbled. "What have you got for me?"

"He wouldn't speak to local authorities in Monaco but said his name was Ivan Vanko when Stark went to see him."

"Vanko, huh," Fury said, narrowing his gaze.

"You know the name?" Phil said, snapping to attention.

Fury leaned back in his office chair. Phil could see the glow of the city nightscape behind him and for an instant, he had an intense longing to be curled up with Clint in his Manhattan apartment. For once, he’d thought that he and Clint were on the same page; discovering that that wasn’t the case had hurt more than he’d expected. He needed some time to sort through his emotions. His heart ached every time he thought of Clint and he wasn’t sure that he could fully hide that from his voice when he talked to him. So he’d texted him _Going dark_ before packing for his plane ride to Malibu.

Phil shook off the feelings as Fury continued. "His father, Anton Vanko, worked with Howard Stark on an earlier prototype of the arc reactor."

"So that really was an arc reactor powering his whips," Phil said. "Stark destroyed it after their fight."

"We need to get him into SHIELD custody," Fury said.

"We've received word that there was an explosion in his prison cell. The prison physician confirmed that he was found dead inside," Phil said.

Fury raised his eyebrows. "An explosion in just his cell?" 

Phil nodded. "Exactly," Phil said. "We've got SHIELD agents out looking for him but so far, we don't know who snuck him out of prison."

"I don't like this," Fury said. "Too many people would like to get their hands on that technology, even if it's an inferior version."

Phil kept silent about the fact that SHIELD was at the top of that list. "That inferior version was effective enough," he said. "Those electrified whips caused a great deal of damage."

"You've dealt with Stark and Pepper before," Fury said, leaning forward. "Do you think they can handle this?"

"Stark - " Phil started to say.

"Is currently tearing apart his home by beating up his best friend, both of them wearing Iron Man suits," Romanoff said, stepping out of the bedroom of the Malibu safe house.

Phil had to fight every instinct he had in order to not draw a weapon. Even though SHIELD had honed his sensory awareness over the years, he had had absolutely no idea she was in the safe house until she spoke. He concentrated on keeping his body posture and expression neutral as she moved further into the room. She was obviously dressed for Stark's birthday party, wearing a body contouring leopard print dress with her hair styled in loose tousled waves that spilled over her shoulders. Her hair had grown since her haircut but she'd added auburn extensions for more body and length.

"What have you got for me, Agent Romanoff?" Fury asked without hesitation. If he was surprised by her presence, it didn't show in his expression. Phil turned the laptop so that Fury could see both of them in the webcam.

"Stark's dying," she said flatly. "The palladium cores he uses in his arc reactor are leaking into his bloodstream. He's trying to stem the toxicity with chlorophyll but eventually, it will kill him."

"How do you know this?"

"From Mr. Stark," Romanoff said, pulling out her own ultraslim laptop from her shoulder bag and sitting in the seat next to Phil. Phil had shadowed her on the flight to Monaco, keeping far enough away so she wouldn’t notice his presence; she’d spent the entire flight hunched over it. "I'm transferring the data I've gathered so far to SHIELD now."

Phil looked at the data streaming across her monitor. "You hacked JARVIS?" he asked, impressed.

"It's far easier to hack an already functioning 24/7 monitoring system than to flirt my way to the truth," she murmured, green eyes intent on the laptop screen and fingers flying over the keys. "The data has been transferred."

A new stream of information appeared. "It appears that Stark has let Colonel Rhodes take the Mark II Iron Man suit," she said, her eyes rapidly moving back and forth as she scanned the screen.

"Let him take it?" Fury said, his voice incredulous.

"Stark has numerous safeguards in place to shut down any of his suits remotely," she said, looking up at Fury. "He hasn't engaged any of them."

Fury shook his head. "Medical's taking a look at the data you sent. Hopefully, they can find a temporary fix that's better than chlorophyll while he works on finishing the arc reactor."

"Finishing it, sir?" Phil asked.

"I'm flying out tonight," Fury said. "I may have the key to Stark's cure. Let's hope he doesn't kill himself with stupidity before I get there."

The video feed switched off. Phil closed down the laptop and turned to face Romanoff. She met his gaze, her expression closed off.

"Why are you here?" she asked bluntly.

"I could ask you the same question," Phil said mildly, "but I won't. SHIELD agents are to be monitored while in the field during their year-long probationary period."

"That is a statement of fact," Romanoff said, "not the reason why you're here."

Phil said nothing. Her eyes narrowed.

"You're fucking Clint."

"We're in a relationship," said Phil, curious about the direction of her non-sequitur.

"Is that a relationship that's expected between every agent and their commanding officer?" Her voice lacked any inflection and she sat perfectly still.

"No," Phil said, his voice firm. "If anyone at SHIELD tries to force you into a sexual relationship, you have the right to kick their ass. Then come tell me," he said, leaning forward, his gaze intent on hers, "so that I can do it a second time."

He wasn't sure but he thought he saw a brief glimmer of amusement in her eyes. It was gone when she spoke again. "If Ms. Potts wasn't in the picture, would I have been ordered to seduce Stark to get this information?"

Phil leaned back. All of a sudden, it struck him just how young Romanoff was. Her file had had a question mark next to her date of birth but she looked like she was in her late twenties. She had lived a lot in her short life but because of her upbringing, some experiences had been denied to her.

"Honeypot missions are a part of SHIELD," Phil said evenly. "Seduction is a valuable tool for gaining intel, particularly when an agent goes into deep undercover for a long period of time."

"But," he said, stressing the word, "all agents have a choice as to whether they want to participate in those kinds of missions. SHIELD does not force its agents to do something they're not comfortable doing." He gentled his voice. "You have a choice."

Romanoff nodded briefly. "Clint chose you?" she asked. Phil wondered if he imagined that slight waver in her voice.

Phil was silent a moment. "He did," he said. He may have crossed that line between them but Clint had been the one to pursue it.

"He's not happy," she said flatly, her gaze boring into his.

Phil felt his heart spasm in his chest but he kept his voice even. "That's between me and him," he said.

"Something happened between you two and he wears his heart on his sleeve," Romanoff continued, undaunted. "It's a liability and it makes him do reckless things, like in Abidjan. That was when he was happy. How many risks will he be willing to take now that he's not?"

"That's enough!" Phil shouted. His jaw was clenched so tight that his teeth ached. His muscles were knotted with tension and there was a pain in his chest that ached with every breath he drew.

“So you do care,” she said softly. She tilted her head, curiosity lighting her eyes. “Have you shown him how much you care?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“Clint grows on you,” she said, “not unlike a fungus.”

Phil was startled into a sharp bark of laughter and the pain in his chest eased somewhat. Romanoff’s lips curved slightly. The longer he stared at her, the more he was convinced that she’d only provoked him because she truly cared for Clint’s well-being.

“I’ve told him,” he finally said, just barely holding back a sigh. “He knows.”

“Words are cheap,” Romanoff said. Her green eyes were intent as she held his gaze. “Show him before it’s too late.”


	15. Chapter 15

Hot, acrid air blasted his face as soon as he stepped out of the airport in Roswell. Phil slid his sunglasses on and nodded his thanks to the agent waiting next to a sleek black car. He settled behind its steering wheel and pulled smoothly into the airport traffic.

When he hadn’t been tailing Romanoff in Malibu, Phil had been following the news of odd atmospheric disturbances that were baffling meteorologists. Tasked by Fury the day after their impromptu meeting with Romanoff to keep watch over Stark - his symptoms partially relieved by lithium dioxide - he'd instead spent his time looking further into the phenomena. In any case, Stark had been busy jackhammering giant holes in his mansion and anytime he spent longer than a few minutes with the man, Phil had an intense desire to taze him and watch him twitch on the floor.

Normally, Phil wouldn’t have paid any attention to the wild conspiracy theories floating around the internet, some even making their way onto network news, but Fury’s premonition worried him. Phil had spent too many years with Fury, rising through the ranks of SHIELD together. When Fury had a feeling, Phil had learned to pay attention; it had saved his life more than once and turned a shit plan on a mission into a - well, the plan would still be awful but they would have a marginally less chance of all dying at the end. Phil had his own feeling about these atmospheric disturbances; something life-altering was going to happen in New Mexico.

Fury had agreed when Phil had presented him with his suspicions and promptly reassigned him, something close to kindness in his eyes. Babysitting Stark wasn’t a challenge and keeping busy kept him from thinking about Clint. Phil tightened his hands on the steering wheel as Romanoff’s words came to mind. He still hadn’t been able to bring himself to talk to Clint yet and a dull pain bloomed in his chest as he thought about the night he’d said ‘I love you.’ Romanoff had told him to show Clint how much he cared before it was too late. But he’d made himself vulnerable that night - literally opened himself to Clint - and had gotten nothing back but silence. What else was he supposed to do?

Phil didn't have to drive far before he pulled into the SHIELD outpost and he shelved those thoughts for now. He strode inside, grateful for the dim lighting and climate control after the searing desert heat. The charcoal suit he was wearing may have been lightweight - a mixture of wool and cotton - but that didn't make it any more comfortable in temperatures over 90 degrees Fahrenheit. For his work, appearances and functionality mattered more than his own personal comfort. 

He pulled off his sunglasses, tucking them into his front pocket. He didn't change expression but he was pleased to see Jasper Sitwell standing at ease in front of him. Sitwell held a mug of coffee in one hand and his eyes were steady behind his wire-framed glasses. His brown skin hadn't yet darkened from the sun so he must have arrived recently.

"How was Stark?" he asked, handing the mug to Phil.

"Insufferable," Phil said, taking a sip.

“Fury assigned me as second for this mission,” Sitwell said, his succinct words and dry tones music to Phil’s ears after Stark’s chatter. “Mind telling me what the mission is?”

Phil eyed Sitwell over the rim of his coffee mug, taking another sip to stall for time while his gaze swept over the man standing before him. He preferred to work with Sitwell on missions if he could; his ever-calm demeanor and thorough efficiency meant that the job would get done and be done right. There were lines of tension in Sitwell’s face that normally weren’t there - a slight furrow to his brow, the corners of his mouth downturned - and his shoulders were not as relaxed as they usually were.

Phil swallowed his mouthful of coffee. “Do you have a problem with this assignment?” he said, keeping his tone even.

“With this assignment, sir?” Sitwell said. “No.”

Phil regarded Sitwell silently. The chatter and bustle of a SHIELD outpost went on in the background while Sitwell returned his gaze. His shoulders relaxed and the lines smoothed from his face as he resumed his usual countenance.

“Let’s get started, sir,” Sitwell said. Light glinted off his glasses and some emotion briefly flared in his eyes. “As they say, there’s no rest for the wicked.”

Phil nodded. He wanted to pursue the line of questioning further but he didn’t have the time to address it now. The atmospheric disturbances, while unexplainable, were predictable and the next one would be occurring soon. Perhaps, when the mission was over, he would be able to figure out what was going on with Sitwell.

“Sci/Tech has determined that the next atmospheric disturbance will take place near Puente Antiguo,” Sitwell said as they walked towards the back of the building.

The ground level was essentially a large open warehouse. As they walked through the central aisle, they passed SHIELD agents performing weapons maintenance and checking their tac gear. Boxes of materials with the words ‘Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S.’ written on the side were stacked at the back of the building with agents bringing more in from the outside through a large door, accompanied by gusts of hot air.

Phil and Sitwell climbed the stairs that led to the computer workstations on the second level. Here, the Science and Technology division was evident. While the agents down below moved quickly and efficiently with little to no talking, chatter filled the air on the second level and people flitted between tasks. Like the agents below, however, their hands were quick and sure as they wrote complicated scientific equations on clear panes with white markers or typed out code on their laptops.

A woman with long twists pulled back into a large ponytail hurried over to them. Her bright grin stretched across her face and her brown eyes gleamed.

“SHIELD looks into the best stuff,” she said, her voice happy and light. “Not always in the best places. It’s hot as balls out here and I’ve already turned as black as my morning coffee.”

Phil swallowed down his amusement. “Your name, Agent?”

“Andrea,” she said, moving to shake his hand. “You’re Agent Coulson, right?” She shook Sitwell’s hand as well and motioned them over to one of the laptops.

She pulled up a dataset. “This is the data we’ve pulled so far from the National Weather Service,” she said, shaking her head, “but we need to get out there with our own equipment. In any case, we were able to run our own simulation.”

Her fingers flew across the keyboard and she pulled up a different program. “If this data is any way accurate, this may be the start of an Einstein-Rosen bridge!” Her voice rose at the end and she looked at them expectantly with a wide smile.

Phil and Sitwell looked back at her with impassive expressions. Her smile faded a bit and she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Operations’ under her breath. “An Einstein-Rosen bridge is a connection between two distant points in space,” she said in a louder tone. “Theoretically, it would create a wormhole that would allow travel between those two locations almost instantaneously.”

“Theoretically?” Phil asked.

Andrea’s voice turned hesitant. “Well, there’s been no recorded instances of something like that ever happening. But the science shows that it could.”

“So we’ve got unexplained atmospheric phenomena and an unproven theory,” Phil said. “Have you got anything else?”

“Oh,” Andrea’s grin turned wicked and sharp, “what have I got for you, Agent Coulson?” She handed him a tablet. “I’ve got the coordinates of the next predicted event mapped out for you here. We’ll probably arrive too late to see it in action but I’ve also given you the contact information of Dr. Jane Foster.”

Phil swiped his index finger across the surface of the tablet until he pulled up a picture of a slight woman with long brown hair, sparkling brown eyes, and a cheeky grin.

“She’s a brilliant astrophysicist who’s been studying similar phenomena for years. I would love to get my hands on her dataset,” Andrea said, rubbing her hands together. “She recently called in Dr. Erik Selvig, another astrophysicist, to help her study these events so we think she’s working on a similar theory.”

Andrea gestured to the people milling around them. “We have the team and the equipment to monitor these events and we’re ready to go when you are.” She crossed her arms and thrust out her chin, waiting for Phil’s response.

Phil nodded. “Good work,” he said. Andrea’s shoulders loosened slightly. “We’re heading there tonight. I’ll assess the situation first but I want everyone ready to move on my command.”

“Sir?” Andrea said as Phil started to walk away. He stopped and waited for her to continue. “I get why we’re here but why all the muscle?” She waved a hand, indicating the agents down below.

“We’re SHIELD,” Phil said. “We prepare for anything and everything.”


	16. Chapter 16

Phil's phone chirped. He glanced at the display. He was surprised by the name of the caller but kept it from showing on his face.

"Don’t go anywhere," he said to the blond man, not expecting a response. He hadn't gotten a single one to any of his questions so far.

Phil stepped out of the room and moved to a quieter area of the temporary SHIELD containment area. He steeled himself before answering the call.

"Barton, talk to me."

"Hey, boss," Clint said, his voice a little softer than usual. "How's the interrogation going?"

Phil clenched his jaw. He drew in a breath and on the exhale, he tried to push away the pain that had burst forth anew at the sound of Clint's voice. Earlier, in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t had time to dwell on the unexpected appearance of Clint on this mission.

"Is there a reason for this call?" he asked, keeping his voice even but allowing just a hint of irritation to slip through.

There was a pause. Phil knew that pause. It was the one Clint always did before he made a suggestion to change mission plans in debriefing, one born out of his still present uncertainty of his own worth. "I think you should let him go."

"Explain."

"He's a man of action. I get that," said Clint and Phil could practically see the shrug that accompanied that statement. "You're not going to get anywhere by talking to him. So let him go and set a tail on him. See what happens."

The idea had merit. Made of an unknown metal, giving off incredible electromagnetic readings, and completely immovable, the hammer embedded in the desert earth baffled all of their scientists. They had had to erect a facility around it to study it further - Andrea had let out an excited squeal when she saw it before issuing rapid-fire orders to the rest of the scientists - and less than an hour ago, a man who looked like a cross between a bodybuilder and a surfer had crashed through that same facility in pursuit of it. With his bulging muscles and complete confidence, it had looked like he might actually have a chance of budging the impossible hammer. A haze of despair now surrounded him after his failure and Phil wasn't certain that any of his questions were getting through that.

Yet, the man was clearly dangerous. He'd proven that already by ripping through their security and thrashing their toughest agent; Phil wasn't sure if they could, in good conscience, let him go. They had too many questions and it seemed like their only chance of finding those answers lie in the shattered man now sitting in detainment.

“I didn’t know you were going to be on this op,” Phil said, putting off the choice for a moment.

“Fury called me personally,” Clint said. Phil could hear the creak of metal and leather as Clint shifted position. “He said he wanted someone watching your six.”

Phil knew he needed to make a decision but he couldn’t do it with the weight of Clint’s stare on him. He could feel it pressing against him, making his breath come short. The cold desert air suddenly seemed thick and hard to breathe. The sudden rainstorm had ended and the cloying smell of damp earth filled his nostrils, causing nausea to rise in his throat. He swallowed against the sensation and briefly closed his eyes.

"I'll take your suggestion under advisement," he said and ended the call.

Phil drew in another breath. For one moment, pain radiated from his heart and completely flooded his system, every bit that he had been keeping at bay for the last twelve days overwhelming him all at once. He set his jaw and pushed it down ruthlessly. He was Phil Coulson, agent of SHIELD, and he had a job to do.

Opening his eyes, he strode back into the detainment room.

*

Phil drained another cup of coffee. He didn’t want to think of how many he’d had so far. In forty eight hours, he had seen definitive proof that aliens existed, had learned that wormholes could in fact be created, and some sort of metal soldier that could breathe fire had almost destroyed the small town of Puente Antiguo. Dr. Donald Blake had turned out be Thor Odinson, prince of Asgard and heir to the throne, and he’d pledged his alliance with SHIELD before disappearing in a flash of rainbow colored light. Phil’s head was spinning and he wasn’t sure if it was because of knowledge or sleep deprivation.

He gave another order and an agent scurried away to obey. The metal soldier had been collected and transported to the SHIELD airbase in Roswell by the Operations unit while Sci/Tech had remained behind in Puente Antiguo to liaise with Dr. Foster and Dr. Selvig. If what Thor had told Dr. Foster was indeed true, SHIELD not only needed to protect the world from its own inhabitants, but it also needed to guard against eight other realms. It didn’t seem as if the Asgardian Bifrost was functional any longer but there had to be other ways to cross the realms and SHIELD needed to secure them before there were any more surprise visitors.

Rotary blades sounded in the distance and Phil looked up into the night sky. Amongst the stars in the distance, he could see moving lights, heralding the arrival of the aircraft that would transport the Destroyer, as they were calling it, to Headquarters. It took another couple of hours before the Destroyer was secured aboard the aircraft; it seemed like Thor had rendered it inactive in their fight but there was no reason to drop their guard.

Sand blew into Phil’s face and he brought up a hand as a shield as the aircraft lifted from the ground. He wanted to slump his shoulders and give into his exhaustion but he maintained his posture. There was still work to be done. The patterns made by the Bifrost still needed to be analyzed by Linguistics, he needed to check in with Sci/Tech to see what progress they made with Dr. Foster, and he still needed to secure resources for rebuilding Puente Antiguo.

“Sir?”

Phil stiffened. He set his jaw and turned around. Clint stood behind him, arms crossed. “Sitwell sent me to find you.” He shrugged. “He says that if you don’t go get some sleep right now, he’ll put a sedative in your next cup of coffee.”

Phil thought about protesting but it was late and none of those tasks really needed to be done that night. He nodded.

Clint stared at him for a moment before glancing away. “I got a hotel room,” he said, his lips barely moving and his voice a murmur. “It’s just down the road. All the other agents are back in Puente Antiguo or staying at the outpost.”

To anyone else, it would have looked like the two agents were facing off against each other. But Phil could see the line of submission in the slight bend of Clint’s neck, in his lowered gaze. He ached to have Clint in his arms again, to press his lips against Clint’s skin. Pain still resided in his chest but he didn’t think he could face an empty bed again tonight.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” Phil said before turning and walking away.

He moved around the airbase, issuing last-minute orders and checking in on the flight path of the aircraft carrying the Destroyer. After one last check in with Sitwell, he made his way to the far side of the airbase. A black car waited there, Clint behind the wheel. He said nothing when Phil slipped into the passenger seat; he just turned over the ignition and pulled out onto the road.

Phil stared out of the window. The high beams were on but they barely penetrated the inky darkness of the open desert. He was acutely aware of the solid bulk of Clint beside him, of every movement that he made as he navigated the car along the highway. Smoke from the fight still clung to Phil’s suit, obscuring Clint’s scent, but Phil still imagined that he could smell the fresh tang of Clint’s soap. His body slowly relaxed, lulled by the comfort of having Clint close and the sameness of the outside landscape. At some point, his lack of sleep caught up to him and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

“Coulson.”

Phil jerked awake at the feel of Clint’s hand on his shoulder. The hand slipped away before he could even enjoy the touch. His eyes felt gritty and he sat up to get his bearings. They were parked in the lot of the hotel, one of the ones where all the rooms opened to the outdoors.

Phil glanced over at Clint, who watched him with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

“I’ve already got the keys,” Clint said. “But if you want to get your own hotel room, I understand.” 

Clint unlatched the door and stepped out of the car. He strode straight ahead, disappearing into the hotel room. Phil sat in the car and watched as a light came on behind the blinds, a shadow moving quickly away from the window.

He didn’t know what awaited him in that hotel room. There was that brief show of submission from Clint and the invitation to the hotel room earlier, but Phil didn’t know what to make of Clint saying that he could get his own room now.

The shadow passed in front of the window again. The thought of sleeping in an empty bed again tonight left Phil feeling colder than the desert night air did.

Phil got out of the car, his shoes crunching the grains of sand scattered across the asphalt. He made sure the car was locked and moved towards the hotel room. He turned the knob and stepped over the threshold, closing the door gently behind him.

“Clint,” Phil said softly.


	17. Chapter 17

Clint was just finishing his sweep of the room when Phil entered. "Room's clear," he said, standing up from where he was crouched behind a bed.

The room had two double beds facing a TV, mini-fridge, and small dresser. At the far side, a fluorescent light glowed over the mirror gracing the wall over the sink. Phil presumed that the door next to it led to the toilet and shower. To Phil’s right, an armchair was tucked into the corner next to a floor lamp.

Phil headed towards the armchair, stifling a groan as he sank down into it. "I've had so much coffee, I'm not sure I'll be able to go back to sleep."

Clint headed out the door without a word to Phil. Before he had a chance to wonder why, Clint was back, a duffle bag in hand.

"I guess your stuff is at the outpost," he said, dropping the bag on the bed furthest from the door. He kept his back to Phil and leaned on the duffle bag, using both hands to press it down on the bed. "I didn't think."

“It’s all right,” Phil said. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “It’s only for one night.”

“If you’re going to break up with me,” Clint said, his voice low, “could you just do it now?”

“What?” Phil dropped his hand and looked at Clint. He was still facing the other way, his shoulders hunched. “Why would I break up with you?”

“I fucked up.” Clint turned around and ran a hand through his hair. He shot Phil a self-deprecating grin but no humor lightened his eyes. “That’s the way it always goes,” he said. “I fuck up and then someone breaks up with me.”

Phil’s brow furrowed. “For not getting my things from the outpost?”

“For not saying I love you.”

Phil stared at Clint. “I would never - “ he said incredulously. “How could you think - ?”

Clint glanced away. His voice was hesitant when he spoke again. “You wanted to break up before,” he said. “And I stopped you.”

“Clint,” Phil said, leaning forward in the chair. He wasn’t sure if Clint wanted him to come nearer. “I just needed some time. But I didn’t want to break up.”

A small wrinkle appeared in the middle of Clint’s forehead and when he met Phil’s gaze, confusion was evident in his gaze. “Was I supposed to know that?” he asked. “You texted me _Going dark_ and then I didn’t hear from you for eleven days.”

Phil started to speak but Clint interrupted him. “I’m not good at this!” He ruffled his hair with both hands and dropped down onto the bed. “I’m trying, okay,” he said abruptly, looking at Phil. “I tried to think of everything I did wrong in my old relationships and I never used to talk. So I’m trying this time and I’m still screwing it up.”

“You’re not - “ Phil was able to say before Clint stood up suddenly.

“Look, I’m not good at this relationship stuff, okay?” He said, pacing between the two beds. “I’m good at sex. Right?” He aimed the last question at Phil.

“Right,” Phil agreed, wondering where exactly he lost the thread of the conversation.

“Well, okay then!” Clint said and sat back down on the bed.

Silence stretched between them. “Are you saying that you just want to do casual sex?” Phil asked. A spike of pain lanced through his heart at the thought.

“What?” Clint looked horrified. “No!”

“Okay,” Phil said, relieved. “What exactly are you saying then?”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” Clint’s voice was so full of frustration that he practically growled the words. “I’m sorry that I can’t say that yet but - “

“Stop.” Phil’s voice rang through the room and Clint shut his mouth with a sharp click. Phil rose from the armchair and moved across the room until he was in front of Clint. Phil looked down at him, cataloguing the way Clint bit his lip and the amount of tension in his shoulders.

“Color, Clint?”

“Green, sir,” Clint breathed out, relief evident in his voice.

“Kneel,” Phil said, his voice filled with quiet power.

Clint slipped to his knees and pressed his forehead against Phil’s lower abdomen, his hands clutching hard at the backs of Phil’s thighs. His shoulders were hunched and his hands balled the fabric of Phil’s pants legs. Phil ran his hands through the mixed brown and blond strands of Clint’s hair. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Phil murmured. “It’s all my fault. Not yours.” Clint burrowed further into Phil’s stomach. Phil stroked the nape of Clint’s neck and felt his heart break at the damage he’d unwittingly caused. “Take all the time you need.”

It took several minutes before Clint’s shoulders relaxed. He finally blew out a long breath and sat back on his heels, his gaze still lowered. Phil’s thumb stroked the angle of Clint’s jaw.

“Better?” Phil asked.

Clint nodded but kept his head bowed.

“Can we talk?”

Clint met Phil’s gaze. The frustration had faded but Phil could see the tiredness in his eyes; he had been up for almost as long as Phil. “Yes, sir,” he said softly. He rose from his knees and sat on the bed behind him.

Phil sat down opposite him on the other bed. “I made you a promise,” Phil said, his gaze intent on Clint, “that I would make sure you knew how remarkable you were. I’ve failed miserably in doing that.”

“Sir - ” Clint started to say in protest but Phil held up his hand.

“I should have told you that I just needed some time. I didn’t think,” Phil said, “and I failed you as a partner and a Dom.”

“Stop saying that,” Clint said, irritably.

“It’s true,” said Phil. “And I’m sorry.”

“Fine,” Clint said. “You’re sorry.” Anger laced his voice.

“What is it, Clint?”

“Why don’t you just tell me the truth?” Clint’s hands gripped his knees and his blue eyes glittered. “You still don’t trust me.”

“What do you mean?” Phil stared hard at Clint. “What are you talking about?”

“I never know what you’re thinking,” Clint said. “All I can do is go by what I see. Every time I think we’re getting closer, you pull back.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I push you to talk about something difficult and you go get a glass of water. You spank me and then you want to break up. You tell me you love me,” Clint swallowed, “I don’t say it back and you disappear for a week and a half.”

“Clint,” Phil said, leaning forward. His heart thumped in his chest. Alarm skittered through him but he kept his expression calm. “I trust you with my life.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Clint said softly, “and you know it, sir.”

He shook his head and let out a humorless chuckle. “Even now, you’re being Agent Coulson again. What do I have to do for you to trust me?”

Phil felt the blood drain from his face as he realized just how much he’d mishandled this relationship from the very beginning. Romanoff’s words came back to him. _Show him before it’s too late._

“Clint,” Phil whispered. Misery clouded Clint’s expression and he wouldn’t meet Phil’s gaze.

The bed springs creaked when Phil stood. There wasn’t much space between the two beds but the distance seemed to yawn between them. Phil took a step forward. Clint still wouldn’t look at him.

Phil’s knees hit the floor with a soft thud.


	18. Chapter 18

"Sir?" Clint's gaze jerked up to meet Phil's and his eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

Phil's hamstrings pulled and a dull ache bloomed in his knees from the thin hotel carpet. Unlike when Clint knelt, Phil could only get down halfway before his body violently protested. "When you submit to me," he said, ignoring the pain, "it's the most beautiful thing in the world. You know how to let go and completely lose yourself." He clenched a fist. "It's hard for me to do that."

"Yeah," Clint said. His eyes loomed large and his voice was high-pitched with just a hint of hysteria. "You are really not flexible, are you?"

"Clint," Phil said, command in his voice. Clint shut his mouth. Phil took a deep breath and continued. "I want to show you how much you mean to me because I have obviously been doing a poor job of it so far. How can I show you?"

Clint's eyes were still wide as he stared down at Phil kneeling before him. His chest heaved as he drew in breaths. Clint swallowed and the sound was loud in the otherwise quiet room.

"Tie me up," Clint said. His voice wavered at first but grew stronger as he continued. "Hold me down. Spank me. Fill me up. Flog me."

He licked his lips and heat sparked in his eyes. Phil felt an answering desire flare deep inside him. "Whip me, sir. Mark me. Let me see it. Make me _feel_ it." Clint drew in a shuddering breath. "Make me yours."

"Fuck, Clint." Phil closed his eyes at the surge of want that rushed through him. "I want nothing more than to do that."

"So what's the problem?"

Phil leveraged himself off the floor, joints and muscles protesting every movement. He suppressed a groan when he was fully upright; he truly was not flexible. Sitting back down on the other bed opposite Clint, he gripped its edge, the comforter wrinkling in his grip. He struggled to find the right words. "I'm trying to protect you. I want to make sure I'm respecting your limits. I want to make sure I maintain control so I don't hurt you."

Clint made a low sound not unlike a growl in his throat. "I thought we already went over this! Why won't you trust - "

He stopped abruptly. Clint's gaze sharpened and bore into Phil. He was silent for a long moment and Phil could see him mentally connecting the dots. "It's not that you don't trust me," he said slowly. "You don't trust yourself. You really think that you're going to hurt me if you let go."

The memory he actively tried not to think about pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. Phil looked at a random spot on the carpet, eyes unseeing. "The way Garrett looked at me," he said dully. He could still see the disgust that filled those flat blue eyes. Even if it was feigned, the look had still sliced through him. Phil just stopped himself from physically flinching at the memory, that old ball of hurt still heavy in his chest.

"I never want you to look at me like that," Phil said, his hands tightening on the sheets. "He said that I was sick for wanting to do that to another person. He told Fury that there was no way there was any good in me if I could do something like that to someone I loved."

"Garrett?" Pure, absolute fury darkened every syllable of Clint's voice. "John Garrett?"

Phil looked up. Clint's jaw was clenched and his hands clenched tight into fists. "That asshole did this to you?"

"It was a long time ago," Phil said, suddenly feeling weary. He hadn't meant to tell Clint the name of the man who hurt him so long ago but his fatigued state was catching up to him. A dull ache set up residence in his temples as exhaustion weighed down his limbs.

"You know," Clint said with deceptive calm, "my arrow can slip during one of our training sessions."

"You never miss." Phil felt a spark of amusement despite himself.

"I wouldn't," Clint promised, his voice dark.

"Clint." Phil shot him a quelling look.

There was a short silence. "So what now?" Clint's voice was quiet.

Phil sighed and laced his fingers together. "I'm trying," he said. "I know you wouldn't do what he did to me. But I've been holding back for decades now. It's hard to just let go."

"Sir, I already told you." In a fluid motion, Clint slipped from the bed to the floor in a perfect submissive pose. Behind him, his hands grasped his forearms just below the elbow, thrusting his chest forward, while his knees spread outwards in a V shape. His head was held in a neutral position but he lowered his gaze, eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

"I'll wait for you."

A powerful flood of want rushed through Phil. Dark fantasies chased each other through his mind, each filthier than the last. He licked his lips. When he spoke, he almost didn't recognize the low gravel that came out. "Careful, Clint. You're asking for a spanking by deliberately provoking me."

A shudder passed through Clint but he maintained the pose. "Looking forward to it, sir."

"It's late," Phil said, voice firm but gentle. "We're on a mission. We'll continue this later."

"Sir," Clint said and smoothly rose to his feet.

They got ready for bed quickly, moving around each other in the hotel room with ease born of long familiarity. The conversation had taken the better part of an hour; only a few more remained until sunrise. Phil finished first and slipped into the bed closest to the door, turning off the bedside lamp and curling around a pillow.

Minutes later, Clint finished in the bathroom. He switched off the other bedside lamp and hesitated between the two beds.

"If you're not in my arms in the next ten seconds," Phil's voice sounded in the darkness, "there will be hell to pay."

"Sir, yes, sir," Clint said, climbing in beside Phil.

Phil grumbled a little but moved with alacrity, wrapping his arm around Clint and pressing a kiss against his temple as Clint threw a leg over Phil's leg and settled in the crook of Phil's neck. Sleep claimed both of them almost instantaneously.


	19. Chapter 19

Phil paused in the act of rolling up his sleeve when a knock sounded on the door. He rose from the armchair, tucking the last fold in place, and headed towards the front door of his apartment.

It had been one week since that night in the hotel; that time had been needed to wrap up all the loose ends in New Mexico. Drs. Foster and Selvig - Jane and Erik, as they insisted on being called - had worked with SHIELD Sci/Tech scientists to try to reopen the Asgardian Bifrost. Two days after the battle with the Destroyer, they’d almost succeeded but the Einstein-Rosen bridge had failed to stabilize and the connection had been lost. The Operations unit had provided security detail just in case the Asgardians or any of their tech returned but fortunately it hadn’t been needed; Clint had grumbled in debriefing about not getting the chance to fire a single shot. SHIELD would continue to fund and support the research but Fury had called Phil back to Headquarters. In addition to his field work, Phil oversaw numerous projects for SHIELD and a detailed analysis of the Destroyer had just been added to that list.

Their flight had landed in New York just one hour ago. Phil should have been exhausted. He’d stayed up late every night, coffee cups piling up next to him, making phone calls and meeting with officials. One long week where Phil had worked tirelessly to secure resources for rebuilding Puente Antiguo while overseeing the other SHIELD agents assisting Jane and Erik. 

Except Clint had spent the six hour flight with his gaze intensely focused on Phil, lingering over the few places on his body with exposed skin - his neck, his hands - and caressing them from afar. Whenever Phil did glance over at Clint, his gaze fell to the floor, one thumb sweeping over the delicate skin on the underside of his own wrist. It had been absolutely maddening to stay in his seat, to keep working steadily through the paperwork generated by the mission. They’d separated at the New York SHIELD airbase without a word but Phil knew that Clint would come over tonight. His suit jacket and tie had already been discarded and he’d popped open the first couple of buttons on his dress shirt, anticipation and desire stirring within him.

Clint stood on the other side of the door, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, when Phil pulled it open. Heat flared in his eyes as he focused in on Phil’s exposed forearms. Phil took a step back to let Clint inside the apartment and waited patiently while Clint toed off his shoes and hung up his jacket, pleased to see him still following the instructions Phil had given him on his first visit six months ago. Then he stepped in close and ran his open hand up Clint’s chest from his waist to the base of his neck, noting how Clint’s eyes turned a deeper blue. Their gazes locked and the air hung heavy between them.

Phil’s forearm flexed. Clint let out a surprised grunt when his back slammed against the unyielding wall but made no move to resist. Phil quickly moved in close, pushing his thigh against Clint’s crotch and placing his lips right next to Clint’s ear.

“I warned you what would happen if you deliberately provoked me,” Phil said, his voice a silky hiss. Clint shuddered in his arms and swallowed.

“Yes, sir.”

Phil hesitated. He knew exactly what he wanted to do tonight - he had spent the flight planning it out in excruciating detail in fact - but still a small seed of doubt nagged at him.

Somehow, Clint sensed it. He turned his head to face Phil. “Hey,” Clint said softly, searching Phil’s eyes. “Color, sir?”

Warmth that had nothing to do with desire bloomed in Phil’s chest. He stared back at this beautiful man who was the living embodiment of all of his fantasies, who was perceptive enough to check in with his Dom when he was feeling a little off-kilter.

“You’ll safeword if you need to?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember my safeword?” Phil asked roughly.

“Tahiti, sir,” Clint said. His gaze was clear and calm. “I remember.”

Phil’s fingers flexed on Clint’s chest. “I want to do this,” he said abruptly, his tone earnest, looking into Clint’s eyes. “Clint, I want to take you apart.”

Clint’s lips parted and a small moan emerged. His hips rocked upwards and Phil suddenly realized that Clint was hard, his length pressing against Phil’s thigh. “If you need to safeword, I understand, sir,” he said, a breathless note in his voice. “Until then, please. Take me, sir.”

Phil stepped back, far enough that he was no longer touching Clint at all. Clint bit his lip in a vain attempt to hide his whimper. The worn black T-shirt he wore stretched across his chest as he drew in deep breaths while the crotch of his dark blue jeans strained over his erection. Phil let all the desire he felt heat his eyes and Clint bit back another whimper, his pupils dilating even more to swallow his irises.

“Take off your clothes,” Phil said. He didn’t wait to watch but strode into his bedroom, heading straight for his closet and the two large black boxes on the bottom shelf. He selected just two items and then moved back towards the living room, dropping them onto the nightstand next to the condoms as he passed it.

He paused in the doorway. Not only had Clint removed his clothes, but he’d also positioned himself in the same submissive pose he’d fallen into at the hotel: hands grasping his forearms just below the elbow with his knees spread outwards in a V shape. His cock rose proudly to rest against his lower abdomen, a drop of precome already beaded at the head. Clint’s gaze was trained on the floor, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

Pure lust swept through Phil as he looked upon the beautiful portrait of surrender in front of him. Blood rushed south, leaving him feeling slightly lightheaded, and his cock strained against the fabric of his slacks. Phil’s hands clenched as dark desires filled his mind. He took a deep breath, ready to shove them aside and tighten his reins of control but at that moment, Clint lowered his head.

Phil stared at Clint’s exposed neck. How many times had Clint told him that he trusted him? He wanted to be able to just let go, to fully embrace his Dominant side as much as Clint was embracing his submissive side. Phil debated for a moment before coming to a decision. He wasn’t planning on doing anything too extreme tonight; as long as he stuck to his plans, he probably could afford to loosen the reins just a little.

Closing his eyes, Phil tapped into that headspace he hadn’t dared to venture into a very long time.


	20. Chapter 20

Power and confidence rose in him, mixing with the desire, and the combination almost made his head spin. It was a heady feeling, his back straightening and shoulders squaring as surety graced his limbs. He opened his eyes, taking in Clint’s position with eyes anew. All of that submission on display just for him, waiting for Phil’s next move. He yearned to put his hands on Clint’s skin but he held back for now just to let the anticipation build.

“Gorgeous,” Phil said, his voice deeper than before. He moved further into the room, his steps strong and steady. “I’m tempted to slide my cock into your pretty mouth,” he took a moment to appreciate the way Clint’s lips automatically parted, “but I already have other plans.”

Phil placed his hand along Clint’s jaw, drawing his head upwards until their gazes met. His thumb dragged along Clint’s lower lip until Clint's tongue flicked out to taste it. Phil allowed him to draw his thumb inside his mouth, Clint's lips closing over it to suck gently. His deep blue eyes loomed large as he held Phil’s gaze.

“Look at you,” Phil said softly, “so eager to have a part of me inside of you.”

Clint moaned in reply, his teeth briefly nipping at the tip of Phil’s thumb.

Phil regretfully slipped it out of Clint's mouth. "Up."

Clint rose to his feet in a single, fluid motion and Phil led the way into the bedroom. He closed the door behind them and directed Clint to brace his hands against the wall, legs shoulder-width apart.

He opened the small box he’d set on the nightstand to reveal an object resting on pink satin lining. It was made of stainless steel, so polished that it reflected the light, with a bulbous teardrop shaped head tapering down to a slim neck. The bottom flared out into an oval ring that was large enough for several fingers to grasp.

“This is a butt plug,” Phil said. He tilted it so that Clint could see it from all angles. “This is the smallest one I have: only an inch across, the same size as the prostate massager.” He trailed the back of his hand down the length of Clint’s throat. “I’ll work you up to my largest size in time.”

Clint swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing gently. His eyes were locked on the small toy.

Phil set the toy back in its box and grabbed the bottle of lube. Stepping close to Clint, Phil ran his hand from the nape of Clint’s neck down to the swell of his ass, causing Clint to release his breath in a small sigh.

“Silicone lube,” Phil said, uncapping the bottle and pouring some onto his fingers. He rubbed the viscous liquid between his fingers before circling Clint’s pucker. Clint closed his eyes and made a small sound in his throat, his arms briefly flexing.

“Unlike water-based,” Phil continued in a smooth voice, “I wouldn’t have to reapply it as often. That means I could leave this plug in for a longer period of time.” He pressed gently against Clint’s hole. “All day for instance.” A breathy moan escaped Clint’s lips.

Phil continued to circle for several minutes, teasing Clint until he began to rock his hips, seeking more pressure. “Bear down for me, Clint,” Phil said and when Clint did so, he pushed a finger inside in one smooth glide. Clint let out a low groan, his hips shifting forwards a little before moving sharply backwards trying to get Phil’s finger deeper.

Normally, Phil took his time opening Clint up but this time he set about doing it quickly and efficiently. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the helpless moans Clint made and the way his breath stuttered when Phil added in a second finger. He pulled his fingers free and retrieved the toy, pouring a generous amount of lube on it. Phil ran his fingers over the sensitive skin along Clint’s hip with one hand while he rocked the plug against Clint’s entrance with the other until it finally popped inside, accompanied by a groan from Clint.

“Very good,” he told a panting Clint, threading his fingers briefly through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t move.”

Phil walked to the bathroom, getting a small hand towel to wipe off the excess lube. The trip was really just to give Clint time to adjust to the toy. “How does it feel?” he asked mildly when he returned.

“Solid,” Clint said, a breathless note in his voice. “Heavier than I expected.”

Phil hummed, admiring the way the steel peeked out from between Clint’s cheeks. He dropped the towel onto the nightstand and moved to Clint’s side, sliding his hand once more down the length of Clint’s back.

“Ready?” he asked, cupping the asscheek closest to him. Clint bit his lower lip and nodded. “You’re going to count for me,” Phil said, caressing the soft skin at the junction between cheek and thigh and seeing Clint’s eyelids flutter close, “and I’ll decide when you’ve had enough.” Phil drew his hand back and let it land on Clint’s ass with a sharp smack, taking care to avoid the plug.

“Oh, fuck!”

The words exploded out of Clint’s mouth and he jerked forward with a gasp, his arms catching him before he hit the wall.

Phil smirked. The slap itself was not too hard - just enough to bring a flush to Clint’s skin and leave a sharp, stinging sensation - but the heaviness of the steel allowed the plug to nudge against Clint’s prostate, particularly with movement. “That wasn’t a number, Clint.”

“One, sir,” Clint moaned. He straightened his arms back to full length.

Phil let his hand fly again to land on the other cheek and Clint let out another breathy moan. His arms quivered but he stayed in position this time. “Two, sir.”

After ten, Clint’s delicious moans accompanying each one, Phil slid his hand between Clint’s cheeks. He tugged on the ring of the plug, pulling it so that the plug stretched Clint’s hole before pushing it back firmly inside. A burst of precome slid down Clint’s shaft as he groaned low and deep in his throat. His head dropped down as he struggled to draw breath.

Clint’s asscheeks were already flushed but another ten would really make them glow. To be honest, Phil didn’t think he himself would be able to do any more than that. Every gasp and moan that Clint was making was going straight to his own cock and he pressed the heel of his hand against it, suppressing a groan. 

Phil started again, making the slaps just a bit harder, alternating between the two cheeks. He kept the first six at the same steady pace but then suddenly sped up on the last four, letting the final two land on the crease between cheek and thigh on each side.

“Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, fuck, sir!” Clint threw his head back and raised up on his toes for the last two. His ass was definitely bright red now and Phil absolutely needed to be inside of him. Clint's breaths were ragged as his head fell forward again, hanging low between his shoulders.

"Clint," Phil ordered, hands moving to undo his belt buckle. "Talk to me."

He had to take several deep breaths first but then Clint slowly raised his head to look at Phil.

"Feels good, sir." His words slurred ever so slightly.

Phil's cock fully hardened as he looked upon Clint in the throes of subspace. His eyelids hung heavy over pupils blown wide, a slim ring of blue around each black circle. His bitten lips were a plump red and, as Phil watched, his tongue snaked out to make them shiny and wet. The vulnerability on his face made a fierce protectiveness rise in Phil, followed closely by possessiveness so strong it took his breath away.

Clint was _his_.

He finished unfastening his belt buckle. There was a loud swish when the belt slipped free from its loops with one swift jerk of his hand. Phil blinked, startled when Clint flinched and closed his eyes at the sound.

Phil was at his side in an instant. "Baby," he said, cupping Clint's jaw, "what is it?"

The words were a little slow in coming. "No belts. Please, sir."

"Never," Phil promised, throwing the belt off to the side. He captured Clint's lips and Clint fell into the kiss with a small whimper, keeping his hands pressed against the wall as ordered. Phil teased Clint with small flicks of his tongue along the seam of his lips until Clint pressed forward, chasing Phil's tongue with his own. Phil finally obliged, tangling them together, and didn't draw back until Clint had completely relaxed into the kiss.

He moved behind Clint once more and trailed his fingers down his back. Barely skimming it with the pads of his fingertips, he traced random patterns on the now sensitized skin of Clint's ass, drawing out moans and causing Clint's hips to move restlessly. Phil reached for the plug and pulled it out slowly, stretching Clint's rim. Clint gasped when the plug suddenly slipped free, his entrance spasming with the sudden release in tension.

A jolt of desire hit Phil low and hard at the sight. He wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and squeezed hard, staving off his orgasm. He thought about taking Clint right there against the wall but the angle just wasn't right for what he wanted to do. Instead, he guided Clint to the bed, kneeling on the covers with his hands grasping the top of the headboard.

Clint was pleading by the time Phil finished stripping off the rest of his clothes and lined up his cock, now covered with a condom and slick with lube. Phil ran his hands over Clint's ass again, admiring the beautiful flush.

"Let me know if this is too much," Phil said. His cock was bigger than the plug but he wanted, needed Clint to feel every single inch.

They both let out groans as Phil slid inside, pleasure rolling through him at the feel of Clint warm and tight around him. He moved slowly, letting Clint get used to his girth, alert for any sign of discomfort, but Clint wordlessly urged him on with soft moans. He didn't stop until he was completely inside, hips nestled against the reddened skin of Clint's ass. The need to thrust was almost irresistible but he waited, teeth clenched, until Clint began to move his hips, seeking more.

"You're going to want to hold on," he told Clint, voice low and dark.


	21. Chapter 21

Phil grasped Clint's hips tightly and pulled almost completely out before slamming home with a low grunt. Clint didn't even have a chance to finish his sharp cry before Phil was moving again, hips snapping in an almost brutally quick rhythm. It was only a short time before Clint’s cries began to climb in register and Phil let go of one hip to help him along, jerking him off with short strokes right at the head.

“Come on, baby,” Phil said. He grunted and twisted his hips as he slammed home again. “Come for me.”

A cut-off moan and then Clint began to clench around him. Phil swore, gritting his teeth as he held himself back from the edge of orgasm even as he continued to thrust to make it good for Clint. Phil would never tire of the sounds Clint made when he came, desperate cries trailing off into breathy moans. He slowed his thrusts so that he could pull Clint upwards, his forearm smearing the come that streaked Clint’s chest, and licked a long stripe up the salty column of Clint’s throat. One last whimper and then Clint slumped back against Phil, his back pressed against Phil’s front, ass still clenched around Phil's hard cock. He was heavy in Phil's arms, all that muscle turned into dead weight with the laxity of a good orgasm.

After a minute, Clint began to stir. "Sir?" His hips shifted and Phil tightened his arms to keep him still, one hand coming up to brush over Clint's nipple. Clint drew in a swift breath but didn't move, obeying Phil's unspoken command.

“Oh, Clint,” Phil said. “We're not done by a long shot.”

“Sir?” Clint’s voice was little more than breath and he helplessly arched his back as Phil began sucking on the crook of his neck.

“Touch yourself,” Phil said, teeth worrying at Clint’s skin. “Get yourself hard for me, sweetheart.”

Phil heard a swift indrawn breath. He glanced down to see one of Clint’s hands palming his softening cock. “The other hand too,” Phil ordered, his cock twitching as Clint obeyed immediately, massaging his own balls and moaning softly.

Phil drew in a deep breath, his head spinning at the smell of the musk of Clint's come mixed with his sweat. “Fuck, Clint,” he said on the exhale and tightened his arms.

His whole world had narrowed to just Clint, his body tuned into every one of his movements. Clint's back was warm against his front, a thin sheen of sweat making it easier for them to slide against each other. The expanse of Clint's shoulder beckoned him and he sank his teeth into it, sucking hard as Clint's breaths turned ragged.

He let go of the worried skin when Clint’s breaths started to speed up and looked over his shoulder to check on his progress. His cock had started to plump up again, the reddened head shiny with come. Unable to help himself, Phil gave a small thrust and Clint's hands briefly stilled as he moaned. Phil pressed a gentle kiss to Clint's neck as both of his hands skimmed Clint's chest until they found his nipples. His fingers teased the small nubs, rubbing and gently pinching until they hardened under the attention. Clint was definitely panting now, his hips starting to move in slow rolls. Phil closed his eyes and swore again as the slow drag along his cock made electricity zing along his spine.

A part of him wanted to stay just like this - buried to the hilt in Clint's ass, his arms holding Clint tight - but more than that, he wanted to see the expression on Clint's face as he fell apart underneath him.

"Hold on, sweetheart," Phil said. He gritted his teeth as he slowly pulled out and guided Clint to lie on his back on the bed.

Clint willingly followed Phil’s lead, still lost in the haze of subspace. As soon as Clint was on his back, his hand fisted his cock and began to stroke, his other hand reaching down to caress his balls. For a moment, Phil was struck still by the perfection of Clint's submission; he’d given himself over to Phil’s command completely. Sweat dampened Clint’s hairline, darkening the strands. His eyelashes curled against his cheeks and his lips were slightly parted, his face vulnerable in his passion. With every pull of his hand on his cock, moans fell from Clint’s parted lips, and then he swiped his thumb over the sensitive skin on the underside of his cock. In all of Phil’s fantasies, he never would have imagined the fluid roll Clint’s body made as he cried out at the sensation.

He was suddenly acutely aware of his own unfulfilled desire, his cock rock hard and straining within the confines of the condom. He took a moment to add more lube before repositioning himself at Clint’s entrance.

“Clint.” Phil’s voice was so rough and deep that he barely recognized it. He waited until Clint opened his eyes, his attention centered on Phil although his gaze was still unfocused.

“You can come whenever you want,” Phil said before starting to sink inside Clint once more, “but when you do, it will be on my cock.”

Despite the urgency spurring him along, Phil kept his initial thrusts slow, letting Clint get used to him again. Before long though, his hips began to snap as he chased that ultimate peak. He grabbed Clint’s knees to press him down into the bed, almost bending him in half. Phil could tell that Clint was close: his balls were drawn up tight, the vein on the underside of his hard cock was prominent, and desperate whines sounded from his throat as his fist flew along its length in quick strokes.

A bead of sweat trickled down from Phil’s temple. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out but he needed Clint to come first. Phil leaned forward and kissed him hard, Clint’s mouth lush underneath his. His stomach pressed against Clint’s still moving fist and he let go of one of Clint’s legs to grab the back of Clint’s neck. Phil pulled back with a final lick across the roof of Clint’s mouth but stopped only inches away, the breath of his hard exhale mingling with Clint’s desperate pants. Phil felt like he was burning up. Something needed to give.

“I said,” Phil said in a fierce hiss. “Come!” He grinded his hips against Clint’s so that his cock dragged along Clint’s prostate.

Clint’s thighs began to shake.

The shudder traveled up his whole body. Clint’s eyes popped open, his gaze unseeing as he stared at the ceiling. His lips parted in a silent scream as he shuddered again. Phil let go of Clint’s other leg to plant his hand on the bed as Clint’s hips began to buck. One last twist of his fist as it traveled up his shaft and then Clint arched his back hard, streaks of white painting his chest. The wail that sounded from Clint’s lips as he fell apart underneath Phil undid him completely and he was coming hard, cock pulsing in Clint’s ass, his own low groan a perfect counterpoint.

Phil just barely caught himself from collapsing on top of Clint. Instead, he rested his forehead against Clint’s and closed his eyes. Their pants filled the air and he was still buried inside Clint, his cock pulsing one last time. He was completely surrounded by Clint: his scent filled Phil’s nostrils and Clint’s legs had wrapped themselves around Phil’s waist during their climax. Tears pricked his eyes as he thought about the sheer perfection of their union.

“I love you,” Phil whispered. He pressed a gentle kiss to Clint’s lips.

It didn’t matter if Clint couldn’t say it back. For the first time in a long time, Phil felt complete.


	22. Chapter 22

Phil couldn't get rid of the small smile that curved his lips as he moved about the bedroom. Clint wasn't much help during cleanup, eyes closed and still lost in subspace, but he at least followed Phil's instructions with sluggish movements. A warm blossom of affection unfurled in Phil's chest as he used the hand towel to clean Clint's skin and helped Clint back into his own boxers and a soft T-shirt of Phil's. Once dressed, Clint curled up against a pillow with a small sigh.

Phil moved into the bathroom to do his own cleanup before pulling on his sleep clothes and switching out his contacts for glasses. Back in the bedroom, he hesitated for a moment by the side of the bed. He wanted nothing more than to climb back in bed and pull Clint close but he didn't have all of his aftercare supplies; the last thing he was going to want to do once he got into bed was to get back out of it again. Making his decision, he pressed a gentle kiss against Clint's lips.

"Sweetheart," Phil murmured, "I'll be right back. I'm just going to the kitchen."

Clint made an indistinct noise in reply; it looked like he was going to fall asleep any minute. Phil headed towards the kitchen, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him to block the light spilling in from the hallway.

He grabbed a couple of bottles of Gatorade from the refrigerator and some protein bars from a cabinet. After a moment's thought, Phil reopened the refrigerator to remove one more item. It was a bar of expensive Swiss dark chocolate, a treat he indulged in when he was having an exceptionally good day. Right now, his heart felt full and light; his smile widened as he imagined feeding a piece to Clint and capturing his lips in a deep, chocolate-flavored kiss.

Phil shook his head. He was mildly embarrassed of the saccharine thoughts but mostly, he felt content at the way things had gone tonight. He'd never thought he would be able to experience anything like this again. From the first moment their eyes met, Clint had chipped away at all the defenses he'd built up over the years, convinced that no one would want the real Phil Coulson. He'd thought this part of himself would have to stay tightly locked away, with only the occasional indulgence. But tonight, he felt alive, all of his synapses firing at triple speed.

Phil gathered up the supplies and moved back towards the bedroom. He expected to find Clint sound asleep but when he pushed open the door, it was to see Clint yanking jeans up his legs and fastening them shut. He paused for a moment in the doorway, icy shock chasing the warmth from his body. Then his brain kicked into gear as he swept his gaze over Clint. Clint's jaw was clenched tight and a deep furrow creased his forehead. His shoulders were taut with tension and his movements were jerky. The jeans that he'd pulled on belonged to Phil; Clint's clothes were still in the living room.

"Mind telling me where you're going?" Phil's tone made it clear that he expected an answer.

"You left," Clint said with a shrug as if it were no big deal. Yet, the brittleness in his voice was a clear sign that something was wrong. Phil was watching him closely enough to see a shiver run through Clint’s body before he suppressed it. Clint looked around the room, avoiding Phil's gaze. "Figured that meant we were done for the night."

"I went to get aftercare supplies from the kitchen," Phil said. "I knew once I got back into bed with you, I wasn't going to want to get up again."

Clint stilled for a moment. His right hand curled into a fist. "Still," he said, "I should get out of your hair."

Phil didn't move from the doorway. "And if I don't want you to leave?" he asked softly.

A muscle ticked in Clint's jaw. He still wouldn't meet Phil's gaze, eyes trained on the floor.

"I'm not going to force you to stay here," Phil said, keeping his voice even, "but it looks like you're going into subdrop and this time you're dropping hard."

Clint's eyes jerked up to meet his. "What?" He frowned and shook his head. "No, this doesn't feel like last time."

"It doesn't always feel the same each time."

Frustration filled Clint's expression. "Fuck." He scrubbed his face with both hands. "Fuck," he repeated, his voice muffled.

Phil took a deep breath. His heart ached to see Clint like this. "You said that you trusted me to bring you out of subdrop," he said. "Do you trust me to do that now?"

Clint sighed and dropped his hands. "Of course I do, sir." Despite his words, his voice sounded dejected.

"Take off the jeans and lie on your stomach in the middle of the bed."

As Clint followed his instructions, Phil closed the bedroom door and placed the supplies on the nightstand. He waited until Clint was settled on the bed and then straddled Clint's hips. Phil stretched his body along Clint’s, supporting himself in a plank position before slowly lowering himself on top of Clint. He ran his hands along Clint’s arms until he reached his hands and then threaded their fingers together.

As he suspected, some of the tension bled out of Clint at the pressure of Phil's body on top of his. Clint clutched tightly at Phil's fingers. In this position, Phil’s mouth was right next to Clint’s right ear. He didn't have much time. His weight was not insubstantial and soon it would be difficult for Clint to draw breath - this was not the way that he wanted to have breathplay in their relationship.

"You were amazing tonight," Phil murmured in Clint's ear. "In my dreams, I never imagined someone as perfect as you."

He pressed kisses along the curve of Clint's ear before drawing himself upwards. Clint let out an indistinct sound when the pressure of Phil's body left his but Phil shushed him and guided him to roll onto his side, Clint's back against Phil's front. Clint still wasn't fully relaxed, his shoulders stiff. Phil hooked his chin over Clint's left shoulder, placing his mouth near Clint's ear again.

"Talk to me."


	23. Chapter 23

There was silence for several long moments. Phil waited it out, taking slow, deep breaths and feeling Clint's steady heartbeat under the palm of his hand.

When Clint finally spoke, his speech was halting, full of uncertainty. "I shouldn’t have done what I did."

Phil hummed, letting the vibration pass through his chest into Clint's back. Clint relaxed a little into the embrace. "What do you mean by that, sweetheart?"

Clint clammed up again. After a minute of silence, Phil kissed his neck and tightened his arms. "Baby, I need to know what's going on."

"I told you that I wouldn't push you about this, that l would wait, but then I deliberately provoked you on the plane." The words came tumbling out in a rush and Clint hunched his shoulders, jostling Phil in his position. "I'm sorry, Coulson. I'll be better. Just don't - "

Clint snapped his mouth shut.

"Okay," Phil said. "One thing at a time. I need you to relax. Breathe for me, sweetheart."

Phil breathed slow and deep and after a moment, Clint began to match his rhythm. Bit by bit, the tension faded from his limbs.

"Good," Phil said, his voice warm with praise. He kissed Clint's neck again. "Second of all, yes, you were being a bit of a brat on the plane."

Clint started to bristle at that, stiffening in Phil's arms.

"Relax," Phil said, this time with steel in his voice. He waited until Clint settled down, his body curving into Phil's. "Every sub is different in how they express their submissiveness. You've bratted before and I'm sure you'll do it again. Honestly, I expect that you'll be even more of a smart-ass once you're more comfortable."

"This time, there was a consequence for the behavior," Phil slipped his hand under Clint's boxers to trace the junction between cheek and thigh, causing Clint to squirm and make a small sound in his throat, "which you took beautifully. For the record, I don’t mind the behavior but I do mind it happening when we’re at work."

“Sir,” Clint said. This time, the small movement he made showed his discomfort.

Phil kissed his neck again. “It’s okay. We haven’t really talked about this.” He sighed, his breath blowing over Clint’s skin. “We will but this isn’t the time. Right now, I want to know how you felt about tonight from beginning to end.”

"Do we have to talk about this?" Clint's voice was small.

"Yes, we do," Phil said firmly. "We both need to know why you dropped. That way, I can care for you now and we can try to prevent it in the future."

"I'm sorry I'm so much trouble." Clint's short laugh was full of bitterness. "I told you I was a handful."

"That's it. Clint, look at me." Phil's tone brooked no argument.

Clint shifted in bed until he could look Phil in the eye.

"This is all part of a scene. Taking care of you is not trouble for me." Phil cupped Clint's jaw. "I want to take care of you."

Clint set his jaw, his eyes defiant. "Before me, you didn't have to worry about subdrop. You said so yourself."

"I also did not have the lovely pleasure of sending my sub into subspace," Phil said evenly. Uncertainty crossed Clint's face. "Even so, I always performed aftercare. Clint, you were about to walk out of here without even that."

Clint dropped his gaze.

Phil sat up in bed so that his back rested against the headboard. "Come here."

He guided Clint until his head was resting in Phil's lap, body curled up on the bed. Phil ran his fingers through Clint's hair, murmuring praise and endearments until Clint blew out a long breath and melted into the touches.

"This is one of my favorite parts of a scene." Phil kept his voice low. "Getting to take care of my sub and shower them with attention."

Phil kept going, his hands occasionally drifting down to run over Clint's broad shoulders and back as well, until a small smile was playing at the corners of Clint's lips and his face relaxed, smoothing out the lines in his brow.

"Better?" Phil murmured.

Clint nodded, his cheek pressed against Phil's thigh. "Not a hundred percent, but yeah."

"Good," Phil said, amusement filling him when Clint burrowed further into his lap. "All right, let's talk about tonight."

"Yes, sir." Clint's voice was soft but clear in the quiet room.

"Do you want to eat or drink something first?"

"No, sir." Clint hesitated a moment. "Can I stay like this?"

"Of course, sweetheart." Phil scritched his fingers through the hair at the nape of Clint's neck just to see him smile.

Phil could have put off the discussion until later but Clint had a tendency to be harsher on himself when left alone with his thoughts. Professionally, he'd found it better to debrief Clint right after a mission and he thought the same principle would probably hold true here.

"How did you feel about the butt plug?"

"I liked it." There was a touch of shyness in Clint's voice that Phil found utterly charming. "I liked the idea of having one in all day."

A jolt of desire went through Phil at the thought. He mentally filed it away for the future. "What about the spanking?"

"Good. Really good." Clint hesitated. "Could we - " He broke off.

Phil waited. "Does it - " Clint fell silent again.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

Clint's hand tightened around Phil's thigh. “Would you spank me even if it wasn't a punishment?"

Phil frowned. "That wasn't a punishment. I wanted you to enjoy it."

"It wasn't?" Clint looked genuinely surprised. "But I did something you told me not to do."

"Ah." Phil had a burst of understanding. He gently patted Clint's back a few times. "Sorry sweetheart, but we should face each other for this conversation."

Clint sat up and moved around the bed until he could meet Phil's gaze. "Sir?"

"That night in the hotel," Phil said, "I warned you that I would spank you if you continued to tempt me like that. When you said that you were looking forward to it, I assumed you understood what I meant: a spanking would be the consequence of the continued behavior."

"So you weren't trying to get me to stop?"

"If that was my intent," Phil said, his tone dry, "I wouldn't have picked something that I already know you enjoy. It's not very useful to reward undesired behavior with endorphins."

Clint drew his brows together. "I'm not sure I understand why you spanked me then."

"Because we both enjoyed it. That was the sole purpose of the spanking." Phil looked at Clint's still puzzled expression. "Clint, did you want me to punish you tonight?"

Clint opened his mouth and then closed it again, his expression pensive. Finally he said, "I don't know."

"Okay, that's something we're going to talk about. Extensively. In depth." Phil took pity when Clint's face fell in dismay. "But not tonight."

Phil pulled Clint into his arms. "I just want you to think about this. The last time I spanked you wasn't for punishment. Even though tonight was done in a different way, it was still all about giving you pleasure."

Clint curled up in Phil's arms, his arm wrapped around Phil's waist. A thoughtful silence settled over him. Phil let him think about it for a few minutes.

"One last question for tonight," Phil said. "You came twice. How do you feel about that?"

Just as Phil intended, Clint let out a sputter of laughter. "Are you serious, sir?" he asked, amusement in his voice.

Phil kept his voice as dry as a bone. "I just want to make sure I'm being thorough."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Sir, I fully enjoyed coming my brains out. Twice."

"That's all I wanted to know."


	24. Chapter 24

“Where are we?”

Phil cut the engine, leaving them in the hushed stillness of the early morning. The dark sky was just starting to fade to a deep purple, stars slowly disappearing from sight.

“I know you’ve been over to my place a lot,” Phil said, “but I hope you remember what your own apartment building looks like.”

Phil threw open the car door and grimaced when his eyes landed on the building masquerading itself as a residence. “I didn’t know it was possible for it to look worse. Hasn’t it been condemned yet?”

Clint got out of the car. “Come on, it’s not that bad.” As he spoke, a large piece of paint peeled off the side of the building and fell to the ground, shattering into several large pieces.

“See,” Clint said, flinging a hand towards the building. “All it needs is some paint.”

Phil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Come on,” he said, starting to head for the front door.

“Coulson, where are you going?”

Phil stopped in his tracks and turned to face Clint. Between the glow of a nearby street lamp and the lightening sky, he could just make out Clint’s face. The look in his eyes was fragile, evidence that Clint was still feeling the effects of subdrop even after cuddling, food, and several hours of sleep. 

“I’m taking care of you,” said Phil.

“The scene’s over,” Clint said. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “We both have work in a couple of hours.”

Phil stepped closer and kept his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “I don’t stop being your Dom just because the scene is over,” he said, looking into Clint’s eyes and trying not to let the fierce possessiveness he felt show in his voice. “And I’m not going to leave without making sure you’re all right when you’re still in subdrop.”

Clint’s gaze hardened. “Are you saying that I can’t do my job?”

“No,” Phil said. “I want to show you that I’m confident that you can.”

Clint searched Phil’s gaze for a long moment. Phil let him, content to wait until Clint found what he was looking for.

“Fine,” Clint bit out. He narrowed his eyes. “How are you going to show me?”

Phil didn’t take offense to Clint’s attitude. He’d been prickly ever since he’d woken up, shying away from Phil’s touch and avoiding his gaze unless necessary. “Let’s go to your apartment.”

Clint led the way to apartment H, trudging up the stairs. He paused after turning the key in his lock. “It’s a bit of a mess,” he mumbled before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Phil didn’t pay any attention to the interior as the door swung open, his focus on the way Clint’s shoulders had hunched. “Clint, if you don’t want me to come in, I won’t.”

“It’s not that,” Clint said. “Come in. Just don’t expect it to be clean. And watch out for acorns.”

Phil raised his eyebrows at the last remark but stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. “Grab your gear and let’s head up to the roof.”

Clint gave him another long, searching look before heading towards his bedroom. He reappeared a few minutes later with his quiver slung over his shoulder and bow in hand. He was halfway towards the window before he halted and glanced at Phil. “Uh, there is a staircase.”

Phil stripped off his suit jacket and laid it over the arm of Clint’s couch. He was already dressed for work, clad in a pinstripe charcoal suit. He began to roll up his sleeves. “The fire escape will be fine.”

Clint’s gaze sharpened and focused on the skin being revealed by Phil’s movements before he visibly tore it away. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll see you up there then,” Clint said, his voice rough. There was a loud scraping noise as he shoved up the window and climbed out onto the metal fire escape. Phil watched him disappear from sight as he finished securing his other sleeve.

He crossed over to the window and grimaced at the rust to iron ratio of the metal structure before swinging his leg over the windowsill. Phil quickly climbed the fire escape to join Clint on the roof, noting the target set up at the western side of the building. The sun was starting to rise now, streaks of orange cutting through the purple sky.

“So, now what?” Clint threw the words at Phil. His right hand tightly clutched his bow.

“Face the target.” Phil’s voice was soft but the command was clear. Clint shot him an unreadable glance but followed the directions. Phil moved until he was standing on Clint’s right side. Clint kept his gaze on the target but Phil knew that with his famed eyesight, Clint could still clearly see him.

“You are Clinton Francis Barton. Hawkeye. The World’s Greatest Marksman.” Phil said, his voice firm. “Draw.”

In a fluid motion, Clint pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it in place, drawing the string back until it rested under his chin. The clinging fabric of his white T-shirt molded to the corded muscles of his back, the short sleeves revealing the taut muscles of his arms. The position lifted up his shirt so that a stripe of tanned skin peeked above his low-slung jeans.

“Nothing and nobody can take that away from you.” Phil paused for a moment to let those words sink in.

“Take the shot.”

Phil didn’t bother to track the arrow’s flight. He could tell by the sudden release of tension in Clint’s body that it had struck dead center. Clint blew out a long breath, his eyes fixed on the target.

“Could you give me a minute?” he asked. “Please.”

Phil swept his gaze over Clint from head to toe before nodding briefly. After returning to Clint’s apartment, he only had to wait a few minutes inside the living room before Clint appeared on the fire escape and climbed back through the window. He leaned his quiver and bow against the wall.

"Thank you, sir," Clint said. The fragile look in his eyes was gone and it looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

Phil began rolling down his sleeves. "I'm going to be checking on you every couple of hours. Make sure you eat breakfast and lunch," he said.

"Yes, sir."

"I have to debrief with Fury. You?"

Clint rolled his shoulders and moved his neck back and forth. "I'm going to see if Nat's back. A week with no action? I definitely need to spar."

Phil slid his arms into his suit jacket, fastening the top button with one flick of his wrist. "My place. Eight o'clock?"

"Yes, sir."

Phil paused in the entryway and briefly rested his hand on the worn wood of the second-hand credenza, bills scattered across its surface.

"Don't let Romanoff beat you up too much," he said over his shoulder. "I need you to be able to talk without groaning tonight."


	25. Chapter 25

"Oh my god, yes," Clint groaned. He was sprawled over Phil's couch, legs splayed open and head tilted to rest against the back of the couch. 

Phil raised his eyebrows. "I can't tell whether I'm supposed to be flattered or jealous."

"Mmm?" Clint murmured, turning his heavy-lidded gaze towards Phil.

Phil had to swallow hard as the amusement he'd felt morphed into something darker and deeper at the look on Clint's face. "You've been moaning for the last ten minutes. I'm starting to wonder if you need a room."

Clint's lips curved. He brought his thumb up and slowly dragged his tongue along the side of it, drawing the tomato sauce that had dripped onto it from the pizza slice into his mouth. Humor danced in his eyes as he said in an obviously fake but still effective porn voice, "Fuck, yeah, give it to me."

Phil ignored his burgeoning erection and leaned forward in the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees. "Clint," he said evenly. "If you're trying to distract me from talking about last night, it's not going to work."

Clint must have seen how serious Phil was because he sobered immediately. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, taking another bite of the homemade pizza.

"Based on what we talked about after the scene, it seems you liked everything we did last night." Phil studied Clint's expression. "Tell me what happened before you dropped."

Clint let out a sigh and set down his pizza slice with one last mournful look. His words came out slowly as he thought back. "I was feeling awesome, a kind of floating feeling? I felt you kiss me."

His eyebrows drew together. "Then the bedroom door opened and when it closed, it was like a switch flipped."

"How did you feel?"

"Awful," Clint said and pinched the bridge of his nose before letting go with a sigh. "I felt like I needed to get out of there, like I was just taking up valuable space. Being a burden."

"As soon as I left?" Realization hit him as soon as he spoke the words. Phil blinked. "You left."

"What?"

"Both times that you dropped, you said the words 'you left' to me." Clint suddenly became very interested in just how stretchy the cheese was on his pizza slice. "You don't like to be left alone when we scene."

"Great," Clint grumbled. "That makes me sound like a needy asshole."

"No, it doesn't."

Clint let out a small snort of disbelief.

"After Garrett and I broke up, I started going to public dungeons," Phil said quietly. "I wasn't ready to give up the lifestyle but I didn't want to hurt anyone. I thought if I learned more, I wouldn't make the same mistakes I did with him."

Clint sat up quickly. "That asshole's the one who made the mistake, not you," he protested, eyes glittering with anger.

"It's in the past, Clint," Phil said firmly. Clint didn't say anything else but his eyes still burned.

"Some of the subs I scened with didn't want any physical aftercare at all - no cuddling, not even a hug. It was," said Phil, "unsettling to me. Sometimes it even made me feel like I'd done something wrong. I like that connection of physical touch."

Clint glanced away. Phil's gaze traced over the line of Clint's strong jaw and the muscles of his neck thrown into sharp definition by the turn of his head. "Whether you're in the scene or not, we all have likes and dislikes." Phil's voice came out a little rough and he subtly tried to clear his throat. "Honestly, I want to be on that couch with you right now but I didn't know if you wanted me to be."

Clint's Adam's apple bobbed as he audibly swallowed. "I want you to, but - "

Phil didn't move. Clint was still staring off to the side, the muscles tensed in his neck. As he watched, one of Clint's hands curled into a fist. "I need to tell you something."

"What is it, sweetheart?"

Clint closed his eyes, his shoulders stiff. "I think a part of me did want you to punish me last night."

Phil kept his tone even. "Can you tell me why?"

"I feel like I should be able to say it back." Clint's voice was a soft whisper. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Phil shook his head. "That is not a reason to punish you," he said gently.

He stood up and crossed over to Clint. Phil cupped Clint's jaw with his hand, drawing his chin up until he could clearly see Clint's face. "Look at me, Clint."

Clint's eyes opened. Phil lost himself for a moment in their beauty before he slowly slid his thumb over Clint's cheek. "In fact, I want to do the exact opposite."

"Sir?"

"All that trust you've put in me this last six months; it allowed me to finally let go last night and be the kind of Dom I've been hiding from for so long." As Phil stroked Clint's cheek again, he felt that quiet power filling him up, every one of his senses tuned into the beautiful man in front of him.

"I feel so alive right now, more than I have in years, and it's all because of you."

Phil moved his hand down until he reached the collar of Clint's T-shirt. Clint's breath quickened as Phil pulled it aside, revealing two large purple love bites, one nestled in the crook of Clint's neck and the other gracing his shoulder. "Did you see these?" Phil murmured.

Clint nodded. His lips parted as Phil trailed his fingers over the marks, his eyes turning a deep, rich blue around his dilating pupils.

Phil curled his other hand around the back of Clint's neck. He pulled upwards just a little, noting with satisfaction the last of the tension leaving Clint's body. Clint let his head fall backwards, leaning into the cradle of Phil's hand. Affection and tenderness blossomed in Phil's chest as his fingers brushed over the marks once more. 

"You're mine, Clint."

His lips curved as Clint's gaze went instantly hazy, his body swaying almost imperceptibly towards Phil. A small sound fell from Clint's lips, a cross somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

"And I'm yours," Phil said.

Clint blinked twice slowly before he surged upwards. His lips crashed into Phil's, eagerness with a hint of desperation, as his hands came up to bracket Phil's face. But Phil took control of the kiss immediately, quieting the initial franticness with long, lingering presses of his lips against Clint's. Clint's hands dropped to Phil's shoulders as his lips became pliant, following Phil's lead.

Phil coaxed Clint's mouth open with small licks at the seam of his lips. His tongue swept along the roof of Clint’s mouth, drawing the most delicious choked-off sound from Clint's throat. As he twined his tongue with Clint's, Phil guided Clint to sit back down on the couch, planting a knee on the sofa cushion and bracing himself by leaning on one outstretched arm, his hand gripping the back of the couch. Underneath him, Clint melted into the cushions, offering no resistance to Phil's continued onslaught of his mouth. Phil's other hand came up to cup Clint's jaw, deepening the kiss as Clint tilted his head back. Phil lost himself in the wet, warm heat of Clint's mouth, the spicy Italian flavor of the pizza fading away into that taste that was uniquely Clint.

Phil finally eased his lips away but remained close. Clint was sprawled underneath him, a more intimate version of the position he'd been in earlier.

"I'm not going to punish you for giving me what I've always wanted," Phil said, his voice deep and husky. "I'm going to show you exactly what you deserve."


	26. Chapter 26

"Restraints. Butt plug. Vibrating prostate massager. Cockring." Phil spoke in between trailing kisses down the column of Clint's throat. "Color, Clint?"

They had made their way into the bedroom and Phil didn't want to stop touching Clint. Phil's hands tightened on Clint's waist as he brushed his lips over the purple bruise in the crook of Clint's neck, drawing a gasp from Clint's lips. He wanted to show Clint over and over just how remarkable he was. He wanted to leave his mark on Clint's skin, indelible proof that this gorgeous man belonged to him. Phil pressed closer, relishing the solid strength of Clint as he breathed in his clean soap scent. He wanted Clint to know that Phil was in, totally and completely, for as long as Clint wanted him.

"Restraints?" Clint's voice wavered halfway through the word when Phil nipped at his throat. "You mean the ropes?"

"Oh no," Phil chuckled. He pulled back so that he could see Clint's face clearly. The smile that curved Phil's lips had a feral edge to it but Clint only licked his lips and blew out a soft breath at the sight, eyes blown wide with desire.

"I'll show you," Phil said. "Strip. I want you standing feet shoulder width apart, arms behind your back. I'm going to the closet."

Clint immediately reached for the hem of his T-shirt and Phil took a few steps back to give him room. The play of Clint's muscles as he pulled off his shirt stopped Phil in his tracks. His cock strained against the fabric of his slacks and Phil had to press the palm of his hand against it, just to take the edge off. The shirt was still dangling from Clint's wrists when his gaze zeroed in on Phil's hand and Phil gave himself another stroke just to see Clint's reaction. Clint didn't disappoint, a small whimper escaping his lips.

"Soon, baby," Phil promised in a smooth, dark voice. He turned and strode towards the closet. There was a swagger in his hips that only came out when he fully embraced his Dom side. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this confident, this sure and in control.

He returned to the bedroom with the second black box from the bottom shelf in the closet and set it down on the floor. Until now, this box had not been opened; Phil hadn't dared to even hope that their relationship would progress this far. Clint was in the position Phil had ordered him to be in, forearms clasped tight by his hands behind his back and feet spread shoulder width apart. He drew in a swift breath when Phil laid another more familiar item on the bed.

"We're going for sensation rather than impact tonight," Phil said, cataloguing every reaction Clint made. Clint licked his lips, eyes fixed on the flogger with purple suede falls. "But I will tie you to the X-frame and flog you soon. Would you like that?"

Clint let out a strangled moan.

Phil smirked. "Those aren't words, Clint."

"Yes," Clint said hurriedly. "Yes, please, sir."

"Good."

Phil reached into the box and began to pull out items, laying each one on the bedspread. When he finished, he pointed to each one as he named them.

"Wrists. Ankles. Thighs. Chest harness." He picked up one of the wrist restraints and brought it over to Clint.

"Here," he said, handing it to Clint. "Feel it."

Clint reached out and took it. Like every piece, it was made of supple hand-tooled black leather and lined with buttery soft suede. There were D-rings attached so that it could be fastened to other items in the set. Clint traced his fingers over the soft leather and Phil could tell the exact moment when he saw it.

"Coulson," Clint breathed out. He traced one finger over the stamped letters.

"I've never used these with anyone either," Phil said quietly. "These are different than the ropes, Clint. If you put these on, you're telling me that you belong to me."

Clint drew in a quick breath. His eyes darted over to the other pieces still lying on the bed before he focused back on the wrist restraint in his hand. He traced the letters once more.

"Coulson, I - " Clint trailed off. His eyes were still wide when they briefly flicked up.

Phil only had an instant to see the expression in Clint's eyes, just a brief moment when their gazes met. But it was enough to make his blood run cold.

"Tahiti."

Clint became very still. He didn't move as Phil gently tugged the wrist restraint from Clint's hand and placed it back on the bed, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Please put your clothes back on," Phil said in a low but distinct voice. He kept his eyes trained on the bed but he heard the rustle of clothing as Clint redressed. When all motion stopped behind him, he spoke again.

"I need a half hour alone. But I also need to know that you'll be all right." Phil paused a moment. "Barton, sitrep."

"I'll be all right," Clint said immediately. "Sir, I - "

"Can you wait for me out in the living room?" Phil's voice was like gravel as he ground out the words. It was appropriate since he felt like he'd been turned into stone.

"Yes, sir."

Phil waited until he heard the soft click of the door latch before he turned around, sank down onto the edge of the bed, and buried his head in his hands. This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to start down this road with Clint six months ago. He'd been foolish to think that they wouldn't end up in this exact situation.

He blew out a long breath. Tonight, he had forgotten that Clint was new to all of this, that just six months ago he hadn't known anything about this world. He'd forgotten that Clint had never seen him like this before. Until he saw that look in Clint's eyes, he'd forgotten that thinking this would all work out was nothing but a pipe dream.

Phil forced himself to get up from the bed. He had twenty minutes to pull himself together and figure out what he was going to say to Clint. He set about storing the gear, placing each piece back inside with care. After replacing the lid, he moved back into the closet and put the box back in its place on the bottom shelf.

All of a sudden, Phil felt old and tired, his limbs leaden. He sat down on the padded bench at the rear of the walk-in closet, not ready to go back into the bedroom yet. Maybe it was time to stop kidding himself.

Maybe it was time to stop dreaming and face reality.


	27. Chapter 27

Clint's head jerked upwards from where it was buried in his hands when Phil opened the bedroom door. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, voice hoarse and ragged. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry. I'll fix it."

Phil found himself next to Clint with no memory of having crossed the room, so intent his focus was on Clint. He bracketed Clint's face with his hands and shushed him gently. "Clint, baby, you did nothing wrong."

Clint grasped Phil's forearms tightly, contrition evident in his eyes. "You had to safeword. I don't know what I did but I'm sorry."

Phil looked intently at Clint. "First of all, you can safeword any time you want. Yes, because you don't like something but also if you're hungry, tired, just don't want to scene anymore, or any other reason."

"I know that," Clint said, a hint of petulance in his voice.

"Yet, you automatically thought you'd done something wrong when I safeworded," Phil said sternly. Clint dropped his gaze.

"Second of all, I used my safeword because you were terrified, Clint." Phil gentled his voice. "Did you think I was going to keep going once I saw that?"

Clint's hands tightened on Phil's forearms.

"I'm sorry, baby." Phil stroked Clint's cheek with his thumb. "I'm so sorry. I asked you for too much."

He had spent the last twenty minutes berating himself for pushing Clint too far, that what he wanted of Clint was too much to ask. Despite Clint's enthusiasm, he had yet to feel the sting of a flogger or the bite of a whip because Phil had been purposefully trying to move slowly. And he had blown that all to hell tonight because he got caught up in feeling like a proper Dom for the first time in years. 

Phil felt he was lucky to have gotten six months with Clint - most of Clint's relationships didn't make it past the two month mark - and he'd wanted to bind Clint with leather stamped with the initials P.C. and push him to say he belonged to Phil. No wonder fear had filled Clint's eyes; Phil had practically proposed to him.

"I want that." Clint spoke in a voice so low that Phil almost didn't hear him. "What you said."

Clint met Phil's gaze and the emotion that blazed from his eyes took Phil's breath away. "To belong to you? I want that more than anything."

Phil stared blankly back at Clint. His lips had gone numb and he could barely feel his legs. "What?"

Clint frowned in concern. "Sir? Maybe you should sit down."

Phil took two steps to the side, sitting down heavily on the couch without letting go of Clint. "I don't understand," he said, eyes rapidly moving back and forth as he searched Clint's gaze. "There was fear in your eyes. I," Phil swallowed harshly, his throat dry, "I scared you."

Clint didn't speak for a moment. "I didn't realize," he said softly. The hazel flecks in his eyes nearly glowed, the color of his irises caught on that dividing line between blue and green. "I didn't really get until tonight how much this means to you."

"It just hit me all of a sudden. You bought all of this gear for the perfect sub." Clint's eyelashes brushed his cheeks as his gaze dropped.

"There's no way that I'm going to live up to that." Clint's voice lowered in volume, his hands falling away from Phil's arms to curl into tight fists in his own lap. 

"I don't know what I'm doing and you've had to explain everything to me. And one day, I know you're going to get tired of having to teach me about this. I got scared," he said, "because I know I don't deserve to wear your initials."

"But I want to try." Clint's head came up. His jaw was set with determination. "I know I keep screwing up but I'll keep working until I'm perfect. I'll be the perfect sub for you, sir."

"Clint." Phil's voice came out in a hoarse whisper. His thumb stroked Clint's cheek. "Where on earth did you get the idea that I wanted a perfect sub?"

Clint's eyebrows drew together as he frowned at Phil. "Is that a trick question?" He searched Phil's eyes. "From you, sir. You've only said it a few times when I actually got everything right but it's obvious that's what you want. You're Phil Coulson. You only want the best."

He averted his eyes as he mumbled his next words. "You only deserve the best."

"Look at me, Clint." Phil waited until Clint met his gaze. "I don't want the perfect sub. Some Doms are into training their subs to act a certain way and disciplining them if they don't. That's never particularly appealed to me. I don't have the time or the inclination and it's too much like bringing work home."

"Too much like wrangling junior agents?" A ghost of a smile curved Clint's lips slightly.

"Exactly. I'd rather be with someone who already has a similar play style and kink list and we could negotiate our soft limits as needed. I want the sub that's perfect for me." Phil stroked Clint's cheek again, his voice growing soft and intimate. "And that's been you, Clint, right from the very beginning."

Clint's hands came up to grip Phil's shirtsleeves, so hard that his fingers blanched under the pressure. "I'm terrified I'm going to fuck this up," Clint whispered, eyes wide and intent on Phil.

"Well, I'm scared to death I'm going to push you away," Phil said, his fingers tightening slightly where they bracketed Clint's face.

They both let out shaky laughs.

Clint closed his eyes as Phil leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. Phil rested his forehead against Clint's and spoke.

"We need practice at this whole talking thing," he said. "How about we both promise to work on that instead?"

Clint nodded, eyes still closed. Phil couldn't stop himself from nosing closer until he captured Clint's lips in a soft, sweet kiss, feeling sparks of electricity every time his lips caught on Clint's five o'clock shadow.

"Can we just - "

"Yes," Phil said, his voice earnest. "Come here, baby." 

He guided Clint until they were lying down side by side on the sofa. It was a tight fit for two solidly built adult men but they didn't care, tangling their legs together and exchanging kisses until their lips were swollen and tingling. Eventually, their movements slowed as the emotional toll of the night caught up to them.

"We should really move to the bed," Phil said, even as his arms tightened around Clint. He let his eyes fall shut, to rest them just for a moment.

"Uh huh," Phil heard Clint murmur. That was the last thing Phil was conscious of before he slipped into sleep.


	28. Part Three

"What do you think?"

Across from Phil, Sitwell tightened his lips. "I think there's too much security for a lab studying genetics."

Phil nodded his head. "I think you're right."

He surreptitiously studied the office building across the street. Small cameras were aimed at all possible entry points, one of the many features of the state of the art security system, including the security guard patrolling the lobby. His only weapon was a baton but Phil knew all too well how effective a baton could be in the right hands. This guard definitely looked like he had had combat training; although he ambled around the lobby, his gaze was too pointed and his movements too precise when he changed directions.

"No roof entry," Phil said, taking a sip out of his mug. He and Sitwell were sitting in a coffee shop across the street. Looking like any two businessmen getting an early morning coffee, no one gave them a second glance. "We could take out the guard but that wouldn't get us inside."

"He doesn't look the type who would go for a bribe either." Sitwell's glasses glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window next to their square table. "The company's too small to pass ourselves off as employees."

"Any deliveries?"

Steam from Sitwell's coffee clouded his glasses as he took his own sip and the corners of his mouth drew down in annoyance. "A few. But they've had the same delivery people each time."

He glanced at the window and then cut his eyes towards Phil. "Why are the higher-ups so interested in this lab anyway?"

Phil shook his head. "They're not," he said easily. "It's a fishing expedition."

That was a lie; Fury was very interested in the lab but knowledge of the true nature of the mission was restricted to level sevens and up. Since Sitwell was level six, he couldn't know that Fury was investigating the origins of a mysterious explosion that occurred a month prior while he and Sitwell had been in New Mexico. No one had gotten hurt but there were some rumblings about attributing the incident to terrorists so the Director had decided to look further into it. With the extra funding from the World Security Council, Fury had more reach and was all too willing to put it to use.

"I still don't get it," Sitwell muttered, glancing once more out the window. "Genetic modifications of plants? This doesn't seem like our kind of investigation."

Phil shrugged. "You never know where your next mad scientist is going to turn up," he said. "We've received word they've moved on to animal testing."

"Ah, yes," Sitwell said. "Just the reason I joined up. Saving the world from genetically modified cnidarians."

There was a bitter note in Sitwell's voice that caught Phil's attention. He started to reply when the windows of the office building's second story suddenly exploded outwards, accompanied by billows of flames.

"I believe that's our cue," Phil said as he and Sitwell moved in concert towards the coffee shop's entrance. They had to push their way through the growing crowd as people stopped to gape but they were both used to maneuvering around bystanders.

The security guard was still in the lobby when they made their way inside the building.

"Shit, man," the man said. His name tag said 'Lee.' "What the hell was that?"

"We're here to help," Phil said. "Has anyone come downstairs?"

"No," Lee said. His body held a battle ready stillness that was at odds with his eyes widened in supposed shock. “No one.”

Phil slid his eyes towards Sitwell, communicating his suspicions in a single glance. Sitwell acknowledged the look and focused his gaze on Lee.

“Can you let us upstairs?” Sitwell asked.

“The elevators have probably stopped working. There’s a stairwell just through that door there.”

“Lead the way,” Phil said.

Lee turned and hurried towards the door, Phil following with Sitwell bringing up the rear. Phil was prepared for the punch aimed towards his head as soon as he stepped through the doorway but the speed with which it came meant that he barely got his arm up in time. The force of Lee’s swing sent a shock reverberating through his upper body. Lee followed the punch with a knee aimed towards Phil’s gut but Phil angled his lower body out of the way and blocked the knee with his other hand. He immediately twisted out of the way to Lee’s side, leaving his front open for Sitwell’s direct punch to Lee’s jaw.

Lee stumbled back a few steps with a grunt but remained upright. His leg swept upwards in a roundhouse kick aimed towards Phil’s side. The narrow hallway limited all of their movements but Phil was able to use both hands to block the kick before ramming his elbow into Lee’s chest. Lee’s breath came out in a whoosh when Sitwell’s foot slammed into his stomach a moment later. He doubled over and Phil took the opportunity to step behind him and hook his elbow around Lee's neck, squeezing hard. Lee's hands scrabbled against Phil's forearm but within thirty seconds, he slumped over, unconscious.

"That won't hold him for long," Phil said. He removed his gun from the holster concealed under his suit jacket. "Let's move."

Sitwell nodded and mimicked his movements. The staircase at the end of the hallway was filled with smoke; both agents settled into low crouches as they climbed the stairs, trying to avoid smoke inhalation as much as possible. Phil's eyes were watering by the time they reached the second story and he narrowed them against the sting of the smoke.

There was a card reader next to the second floor door entrance but the explosion had apparently rendered it nonfunctional. They exited the stairwell, moving swiftly and silently, guns at the ready, but nothing stirred except charred paper fragments in the air coming through the shattered windows. Phil could see only one fallen body behind a turned-over lab table; the hem of a lab coat and jean-covered legs peeking out from the side. If any other personnel survived, they were long gone.

He and Sitwell quickly moved around the lab, systematically cataloguing their findings. Murky water winded its way across the floor; several large aquariums had shattered in the explosion and the water had mixed with the spilled soil from some plants that had fallen over. 

Phil moved closer to the body until he could see beyond the lab table. "We're definitely going to need forensics for this one," he told Sitwell. "Features are unrecognizable."

Sitwell's attention was focused elsewhere. He was standing several feet away, his gaze aimed towards another table. Broken glass littered its surface but he was looking underneath it. "Coulson," he said, his voice tense. "You might want to see this."

Phil tightened his grip on his weapon and came up beside Sitwell. He was looking at a graduated cylinder lying on its side, its yellow contents dripping onto a plant below it. An orange fluorescence swirled in the leaves of the plant, forming random patterns.

"What the hell is that?" Sitwell breathed.

A shot rang out and both agents immediately ducked and spun to face the threat. Lee had acquired a gun and was using one of the fallen lab tables for cover. His arm came up over the edge and he squeezed off another round, the bullet pinging off the ground in front of them. Without a word, Phil and Sitwell split up, moving in opposite directions and using whatever they could for cover. Another shot buried itself harmlessly in the wall and the fourth shattered the pot holding the glowing orange plant.

Its leaves violently jerked as the plant slumped forward in its broken pot. The swirling patterns halted and then the glowing began to rapidly increase in intensity.

"Get cover!" Phil shouted. The words had barely left his mouth when the concussive force of the explosion blew him backwards into the wall. He hit with a low grunt, his legs crumpling beneath him, and covered his head as debris rained down on his shoulders. His head was spinning and his ears ringing from the blast as he pushed himself into a low crouch.

When he looked up, he saw Sitwell moving quickly towards him. Soot was smudged on his forehead and his bald head gleamed with sweat. "We need to get out of here!"

"What is it?" Phil rose to a standing position.

"I found more of those plants," Sitwell said, his voice grim as he stopped next to him. "A lot more."

"The security guard?"

"He got impaled by the lab table leg during the second explosion."

Phil did a quick visual sweep but there was nothing they could salvage in the limited time they had.

"Fine," he said. A surge of irritation made him clench his jaw. "I'm calling it. Let's move out."


	29. Chapter 29

Phil swung the tenderizer through the air, its metal teeth sinking deep into the marbled flesh of the beef roast. Frustration roiled through him. He strove to channel it into the motion of his arm, taking out the emotion on the meat resting on the cutting board. After a few minutes, he dropped the metal utensil onto the countertop with an annoyed grunt; if he tenderized the meat any more, it would be mush.

He slammed the palm of his hand against the edge of the counter and then leaned against it, straightening his arms out and dropping his head forward.

“Get it together,” Phil muttered. He blew out a long breath.

A knock sounded. Phil straightened up and quickly strode to the door, yanking it open.

“What are you doing here?”

Clint’s smile faded a little. “We wrapped the mission up early. I thought I would surprise you?”

Phil’s hand shot out and he dragged Clint into his apartment, kicking the door closed behind them. The kiss he planted on Clint’s lips was slow, tender, and completely thorough. By the time he finished and pulled back, the frustration he felt had quieted. Clint looked completely blindsided, eyes wide and blinking rapidly, one hand clutching Phil’s dress shirt at the waist.

Phil dragged his thumb over Clint’s bottom lip. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said, his voice husky.

“Happy I could help,” Clint said in a breathless voice. He hesitated a moment. “Is everything all right, sir?”

Phil felt something bump against his leg. He looked down and noticed a white bakery box in Clint’s hand for the first time. “What’s in the box?”

“No, sir,” Clint chided with a grin. “We have to talk about our feelings first. You’re the one who made the rule and you were very thorough a couple of weeks ago in making sure I knew it.”

Phil smirked as he remembered. Clint had come to Phil’s apartment, pissed off and unwilling to talk about it. Phil had proceeded to blow him very, very slowly on the couch, stopping every time Clint had fallen quiet. Clint had gasped out the story in between moans, finally coming at last with a high-pitched cry, hips jerking under Phil’s tight grasp on his hips, his hands clutching Phil’s shoulders.

He brushed another kiss over Clint’s lips just because his plump bottom lip was irresistible before pulling away completely. Phil motioned Clint to follow him towards the kitchen; once there, he started pulling out spices from the overhead cabinet to make a dry rub for the meat. Clint quickly toed off his sneakers and shrugged off his jacket to hang up before joining Phil in the kitchen, leaning his hip against a counter and setting the box on its surface.

“The missions I’ve been going on lately,” Phil said as he spooned a tablespoon of black pepper into a bowl. He suppressed a sneeze as the spice tickled his nose and reached for garlic powder. “They’ve been short, no more than a day or two.” He couldn’t say much more than that because the missions had been level seven classified.

Clint crossed his arms, his biceps bulging against the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. “And?”

“I don’t know what the purpose of the missions are.” Phil felt a surge of irritation. “It’s annoying me in a way it never has before.”

He dumped salt into the bowl. “I keep telling myself to trust the system. But lately, that just hasn’t been a comfort.”

Clint snorted behind him. “I’ve never felt that line to be comforting myself.”

Phil turned to face Clint in surprise. “What?”

Clint’s brilliant blue eyes regarded him steadily. “Look, you’ve been a SHIELD agent for more than half of your life. I just started this gig. There are very few things and people I trust. And in my life, the ‘system’ has never been something to trust.”

“Compartmentalization keeps SHIELD safe. It prevents the whole organization from collapsing when agents are captured in the line of duty.” This had been drilled into him since day one of his life with SHIELD.

“It also conveniently keeps the vast majority of agents in the dark,” Clint responded. He shrugged. “One of the few things that I don’t like about this gig.”

Phil narrowed his eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve called being a SHIELD agent a gig,” he said. “Do you have an exit strategy?”

Clint’s eyes reflected a lifetime of experiences Phil hadn’t had. “We all have an exit strategy, Coulson,” he said softly, “whether it’s planned or not.”

Phil grabbed a measuring spoon and cayenne pepper, turning to add it to the bowl. “We’ve been dating seven months,” he said, ignoring Clint’s words and ruthlessly suppressing the surge of emotion they evoked. “Surely you can call me Phil now.”

Silence reigned behind him. Phil glanced over his shoulder when it stretched on for too long. Clint’s face was schooled into a carefully blank expression.

“What is it?”

Clint swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You never told me I could.”

Phil very carefully and deliberately set the measuring spoon down and turned to face Clint. His nostrils flared as he stared into Clint’s eyes. “Explain,” he said in a tight voice.

“When I first joined SHIELD, I asked you what I should call you. You said ‘Coulson,’ ” Clint swallowed again, “ ‘or sir, if you like.’ So that’s what I call you.”

Phil recalled that moment when he’d looked down at Clint lying in the mud, rain falling around them. The sweep of Clint’s eyelashes against his cheeks had prompted him to add in the “sir” as an option, some part of him even then wishing that Clint would mean it in a different way. That had been four and a half years ago, long before he saw signs of Clint starting to trust him. Long before the phone call that had started them down the road that had led them here.

“Sir,” Clint added, licking his lips and taking advantage of Phil’s continued silence. He uncrossed his arms and clenched his hands tightly into fists at his side. “I wanted to tell you something tonight so I’m going to do it now before I lose my nerve.”

“Like I said, there are very few people I trust. You gave me purpose when I didn’t have any. You taught me, encouraged me, and made me better.” Clint drew in a breath. “You opened my eyes. You showed me a world that I didn’t know existed and you showed me the kind of person I could be.”

Clint hesitated a moment. “Phil,” he said, his voice low and intimate. He held Phil’s gaze as he sank smoothly into a kneeling position, the underside of his wrists bared as he rested them on his knees.

“I’m yours, sir.”


	30. Chapter 30

“What did you say?” Emotion constricted Phil’s voice. His nostrils flared again and he clenched his jaw.

Clint didn’t falter, his eyes clear and trained on Phil. “Sir, I’m yours.”

Phil crossed the short distance separating them. When he stopped moving, his feet were planted on either side of Clint’s legs. Clint had to tilt his head back and stretch his neck to keep holding Phil’s gaze; Phil curled his hand around Clint’s throat, his thumb resting lightly on the skin above Clint’s Adam’s apple.

“Again,” he said in a tight voice, the command clear.

“I’m yours, sir.” His shoulders were relaxed and his hands were loosely curled where they rested on Clint’s knees, baring the undersides of his wrists.

Phil searched Clint’s eyes for a long moment. “What does that mean to you, Clint?” he asked quietly.

He could feel Clint’s throat work under his hand as Clint swallowed. “You said something when I called you.” By his tone, it was clear he was referring to that first phone call, the one that started this all. “One thing that stuck with me.”

The intensity of the blue of his eyes was truly remarkable. Phil waited, his breath caught in his throat.

“You’re in control,” Clint said. An emotion flitted across Clint’s face, too quickly for Phil to decipher, but there was no doubting the trust in Clint’s eyes. “Of me.”

“Oh, baby,” Phil murmured. He moved his hands so that he was framing Clint’s face, his thumbs resting in front of Clint’s ears. “Is that really want you want?”

Clint’s head tilted back in the cradle of Phil’s hands. His eyes slid closed and his lips parted. “Yes, sir,” he breathed out.

With those two words, Phil felt his entire world realign. That old ball of hurt in his chest finally dissolved for good, leaving behind a hole that ached no less in intensity. His gaze roamed over Clint, patching that space with every aspect of this moment. The image of Clint on his knees, completely surrendering to Phil’s command. That clean soap smell of Clint filling his nostrils as he drew in a deep, shaky breath. The feelings that surged through him: affection, tenderness, possessiveness, and above all else, love.

His lips covered Clint’s and he poured every single one of his emotions into the kiss. Phil devoured Clint’s mouth, lost himself in its wet heat. His slickened lips slid against Clint’s pliant ones again and again until his mouth was tingling and his head spun. Still, he persisted until he was rewarded with soft whimpers from Clint’s throat, until he was sure he had claimed every inch of Clint’s mouth, until the the air around them shifted from tenderness into a much more primal need.

Phil tore his mouth away, dizzy from lack of air, and rested his forehead against Clint’s. He loved surrounding Clint like this, his body sheltering Clint from the outside world as he leaned over him, but he wanted to stretch Clint out on his bed. He wanted to see Clint lost in passion, feel him writhe underneath him. He wanted to claim Clint completely.

“Restraints,” Phil said, his voice deep. “Color, Clint?”

Clint’s eyes flew open. Phil became abruptly aware of just how hard he was, his cock straining against the front of his slacks, as he took in Clint’s already blown pupils.

“Please,” Clint breathed out, his body swaying towards Phil. “Green, sir.”

Phil straightened up. The sudden change in position put his cock right in front of Clint’s face and he almost moaned at the sight.

“Up,” he commanded, taking a half step back, giving Clint just enough space to stand. Phil curled his hand around Clint’s wrist as soon as he was upright, causing Clint to make a small sound in his throat.

He was about to lead Clint towards his bedroom when he caught sight of the beef roast on the countertop. In a quick series of economical movements, he yanked the refrigerator door open, shoved the cutting board with the roast inside, and kicked the door closed, all without letting go of Clint’s wrist.

Clint was staring at him with a curious expression on his face, a cross between disbelief and hunger. “I’m pretty sure I should not have found that as hot as I did.”

“I don’t want to waste another second,” Phil growled. His voice was rough with desire but he tugged gently on Clint’s wrist as he led him into the bedroom and closed the door behind them.

Once inside, he captured Clint’s lips in a lingering kiss. “Take off your clothes,” Phil murmured. “Let me see you, baby.”

Clint obeyed immediately; Phil gave him some space as Clint stripped off his T-shirt and stepped out of his jeans.

Phil raised his eyebrows as Clint lifted a foot to pull off his sock. “Commando?”

Clint gave him a sheepish grin as he pulled off the other one. “Laundry day.”

“Feet shoulder-width apart. Hands behind your head.” Phil’s eyes hungrily drunk in the sight of Clint as he complied. He slowly circled Clint, his eyes tracing over his sculpted musculature, stopping when he was in front of Clint once more.

Phil rested one hand on Clint’s chest. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

His other hand loosely curled around Clint’s hard cock, his fingers tracing the underside of it. Clint moaned, his eyes fluttering closed, but didn’t otherwise move.

“Good,” Phil said, his voice warm with approval. He continued to tease Clint for several minutes, his fingers moving slowly along Clint’s length and circling around the head.

Clint’s brows drew together as he panted under Phil’s ministrations. “Oh god,” he finally let out with a broken moan. His toes curled into the carpet, his muscles taut with tension, but he maintained his position.

Phil smiled and slid his hands along Clint’s body to cup his ass. “Very good,” he said and captured Clint’s mouth in a searing kiss. His cloth-covered cock pressed against Clint’s naked one, pulling a low whimper from Clint’s throat. 

He pulled back from Clint’s mouth but kept close, sliding his hands up to Clint’s waist. Indecision suddenly struck him, his hands faltering on Clint’s skin. It had only been a month; this was the moment it all went wrong last time.

“Clint,” he whispered, his eyes searching Clint’s gaze once more. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do this.”

He needed to know. He wanted this with every fiber of his being but he would stop now if Clint didn’t want it.

“Please, sir,” Clint said, eyes hooded and voice just as soft. “Please don’t make me wait anymore. Make me yours.”


	31. Chapter 31

“Green, sir,” Clint said, both his eyes and voice pleading with Phil. “Please.”

“Okay,” Phil said, his heart thudding in his chest. He pressed a swift hard kiss to Clint’s lips. “Okay, baby, I won’t make you wait anymore.”

He retrieved the box from the closet and set it at Clint’s feet, kneeling as he did so. “Wider,” Phil said, running his hands up the backs of Clint’s calves.

Clint swallowed audibly as he looked down at Phil kneeling at his feet and widened his stance, his hands still clasped behind his head. Phil flipped open the box and reached inside, pulling out one of the restraints.

“Ankles,” he said softly, his hand resting briefly on Clint’s left foot. Phil slipped the restraint around Clint’s ankle, buckling it snugly into place. He did the same on the other side.

“Thighs.” Clint’s cock bobbed gently in the air as Phil slipped the much wider strap around his muscular thigh. Phil ignored it as he buckled the matching strap on his other thigh, the attached D-rings positioned towards the outside on both.

Phil grabbed the harness and rose to his feet. “Chest,” he said. “Give me your arms, Clint.”

Clint obediently unclasped his hands. Phil slid the harness over Clint’s head and spent some time adjusting it, moving around Clint’s body. It crossed Clint’s back in an X, with a strap ending in a O-ring hanging down from the central point, while the arm straps connected to a single horizontal band passing underneath Clint’s pecs. Phil fell into a reverie while he painstakingly adjusted the straps, making sure they were snug but not too tight. When he finished fastening the last one, he felt himself come back suddenly, as if he were a long distance away.

Phil inspected the harness one more time and then spread his hands along Clint’s broad chest, his fingers carefully avoiding Clint’s pebbled brown nipples. Looking up into Clint’s eyes, he asked, “How do you feel, baby?”

“I - “ Clint’s chest rose and fell under Phil’s hands in a deep yet unsteady breath. He looked a little lost. “Finish it, please."

“Clint.” Phil sharpened his voice. “I asked you a question.”

The sharp tone seemed to help Clint focus; he met Phil's gaze. “I-I feel like I’m falling apart,” he said, his voice wavering slightly, “and you’re the only thing holding me together.”

Phil slipped his hands down Clint’s arms and wrapped them around Clint’s wrists, squeezing gently. Clint drew in a shaky breath. “I’ve got you, baby.” Phil brushed his mouth once over Clint’s lips before he reached down into the box for the last time.

“Wrists,” Phil said softly as he slid one over Clint’s hand and fastened it. Phil repeated the motion on the other hand and secured the buckle in place.

Then he just stopped. For one moment, Phil was completely still. His breath caught in his lungs. He stared at Clint’s bound wrists, the initials P.C. stamped on the supple leather.

A small sound registered through his momentary daze. Phil’s head snapped up and he took in Clint’s expression in a glance. Clint’s eyes loomed large as he stared at the wrist restraints as well, his face drained of its usual color.

“Oh god.” His voice was faint, his lips barely moving. “Phil.”

“Sit on the bed,” Phil ordered immediately - Clint looked like he was going to pass out. “Now!”

Clint made his way somewhat unsteadily over to the bed and sank down heavily on the edge. Phil framed Clint’s face with his hands. “Color, Clint?”

“Green,” came the immediate reply. But it was followed by Clint drawing in another one of those shaky breaths.

Phil frowned. “Let me get you some Gatorade.” He snagged a bottle from the nightstand next to the bed and twisted off the cap, tipping it so that the liquid slipped slowly into Clint’s mouth. Clint readily swallowed it down and a little color came back in his cheeks.

“Talk to me, baby,” he said, searching Clint’s expression. “What is it?”

Clint’s eyes were too bright before his eyelids slid shut. “So much.” A tear slipped from underneath one of his eyelids and slid down his cheek. He shook his head. “Never felt like this before.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Phil slid his thumb over Clint’s cheek. “Take all the time you need.”

Clint’s jaw set and he blinked his eyes several times rapidly, determination apparent. “It's okay," he said. "I'm okay.”

Phil swept his gaze over Clint in contemplation. He placed the open Gatorade bottle into Clint’s bound hands. “Drink more,” he said. "Let's both take a minute."

Phil pressed a kiss to Clint's forehead and only moved away once he saw Clint begin to raise the Gatorade bottle to his lips. At the head of the bed, Phil reached underneath the mattress. He slid his hands along until he felt the strap stored there and pulled it free. Moving to the other side, he pulled that strap free and tugged it into place. They looked incongruous against the dark blue sheets, somehow even more so than having ropes tied to the four posts.

When Phil returned to Clint, he was staring at the wrist restraints again, the bottle of Gatorade clasped loosely in his hands. Phil gently tugged the bottle free and replaced the cap, setting it down out of the way. Then he sank both hands into Clint's hair, running his hands through the soft dirty blond tresses.

Clint let out a pleased sound and leaned into Phil's caresses. "You're doing so well," Phil murmured. "You're being so good for me."

Another tear slipped down Clint's cheek but his shoulders were relaxed and the corners of his lips curved upwards. Smile lines appeared at the corners of his eyes as he looked up at Phil. "Thank you, sir."

"Are you ready for more?"

"Yes, sir."

"Stand up," Phil said quietly, "and undress me."

Clint stood up and rested his hands on Phil's chest, the black leather of the wrist restraints a sharp contrast to bright white of Phil's dress shirt, but made no move to undress him yet. Phil raised his eyebrows.

Clint's gaze was focused on Phil's mouth. "Can I," Clint's voice had that sweet, shy quality it got when he was uncertain, "can I kiss you, sir?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Phil said, his voice warm.

Their slight difference in height meant that Clint had to dip his head a little to fit his mouth to Phil's. By this time, Phil was very well-versed with Clint's kisses. Clint could be greedy when he was horny, hungrily matching Phil stroke for stroke. When he was lost in subspace, his mouth was usually lush and pliant under Phil's, his lips lazy in their movements. He favored quick, hard presses when they were saying goodbye, as if he could leave a visible imprint on Phil's mouth.

Clint had never kissed Phil this way before. This slow, tentative exploration rocked Phil to the core; he wasn't sure if it was the kiss itself or the blood rushing south that was making him feel so lightheaded. He stood it for as long as he could and then he reached out, one hand wrapping around Clint's waist while he threaded the fingers of the other through the short hairs at the nape of Clint's neck. In one movement, Phil pulled Clint forward and took control of the kiss, his mouth demanding entry. Clint moaned softly, his lips parting; Phil could feel his cock jerk from where it was trapped against Phil's stomach. The hand Phil had at Clint's waist slid down to cup his ass as Phil licked into Clint's mouth with slow, languid strokes; Clint's hips involuntarily jerked forward when Phil moved to trace the seam between Clint's cheeks.

Clint was breathless when Phil finally pulled back. "Right," he said, his eyes trained on Phil's mouth. "What was I doing again?"

The corner of Phil's lips lifted in a self-satisfied grin. "Undressing me."

"Right." Clint's tongue flicked out briefly to wet his lips. "Yeah, I can do that."


	32. Chapter 32

Clint focused in on Phil's partially opened collar, his fingers briefly sliding through the chest hair peeking out before moving to slip the button free of its hole. He took his time as he traveled down Phil's chest, caressing each new patch of skin as it was revealed. Phil could feel the smooth leather of the wrist restraints brush against him with every movement. Clint slid his hands along the circumference of Phil's waist to the small of his back. He gently tugged Phil's shirttails free, making his way back to Phil's front, untucking the shirt as he went along. The sleeves of the dress shirt needed to be unrolled; Clint smoothed them down the length of Phil's arms until the unbuttoned cuffs hung loose around Phil's wrists. Grabbing either side of the open front, Clint slipped the shirt from Phil's shoulders.

Phil had spent more time than he cared to admit looking at himself in the mirror in recent months. More than once he'd wondered what Clint saw in him, why he'd chosen to be with him when he could be with someone younger, someone more physically fit. The look in Clint's eyes chased all of those thoughts from Phil's mind. Passion burned in them, the blue of his irises swallowed by the black of his pupils, mixed with frank wonder. Clint's hands trailed down Phil's chest, retracing the path they took to unbutton his dress shirt, until they reached Phil's belt buckle.

The belt came off quickly but Clint took his time undoing the pants, sliding the zipper down with care over Phil's thick erection. Likewise, Clint eased the elastic waistband of Phil's boxer briefs past his jutting shaft until he could slide both pants and underwear down his legs. He ended up on his knees at Phil's feet, Phil's cock inches from his lips.

"Stay there," Phil ordered. He stepped out of his lower garments, kicking them out of the way and adding his socks to the pile. He wanted Clint's mouth on his cock as of five minutes ago and by the look in Clint's eyes, he wanted the same.

Phil wrapped one hand around the base of his shaft and moved in close. "Suck."

Clint's lips wrapped around the tip, a soft moan sounding deep in his throat. Phil's hand involuntarily tightened as warm, wet heat surrounded him and Clint's clever tongue teased his slit. He moved his hand to the back of Clint's neck, huffing out a breath as Clint began to work more of him inside.

“I never even let myself imagine this,” Phil said in a low voice. Clint’s eyes flicked upwards to see his expression; Phil’s cock jerked at the sight of Clint gazing up at him while his mouth moved over his shaft. Normally, Clint had a tendency to shy away from Phil’s compliments but here, his mouth stretched around Phil’s cock, he was a captive audience. 

“I never dreamed I would find someone as right for me,” Phil took a deep breath, “as perfect for me as you are.” He released his breath on a sigh, his fingers restlessly stroking the side of Clint’s throat. “You’re better than any fantasy I could have come up with.”

Phil’s voice deepened. “The things I want to do to you, Clint.” Clint moaned, his mouth sucking hard for a brief moment before he resumed the bobbing of his head. “The experiences I want to share. You’re going to be so good for me. And I’m,” Phil said, his breath hitching, “I’m going to give you everything.”

Here, at last, his voice faltered as his cock slipped down Clint’s throat, Clint’s nose nestled against the wiry hair at the base of his shaft. He gazed up at Phil with an expression so filled with satisfaction that the edges of Phil’s mouth couldn’t help but curve upwards in a soft smile.

“Take it, baby.” Phil could feel Clint’s throat working under his hand. He wanted to close his eyes at the pleasure running through his body but he didn’t want to miss a single second of the sight of Clint, clad in his leather, swallowing him down.

“Take me,” Phil said softly, his thumb stroking the skin of Clint’s neck. “Take all of me, Clint.”

Another moan caused Clint's throat to vibrate around Phil. Clint grabbed the backs of Phil's thighs to keep him deep but the flutter of Clint’s throat around the head of his cock threatened to bring him closer to the edge than Phil wanted to be. He eased back, allowing air to rush back into Clint’s lungs before stealing it again in a deep, hard kiss, Clint’s hands clutching his shoulders as Phil bent over Clint’s kneeling form.

“So good.” Phil’s voice was warm with praise. “You’re being so good for me. How are you feeling?”

Clint leaned into the hand Phil had clasped around his neck and let out a pleased sound, his eyes still closed. A dreamy smile curved his lips. Clint was starting to slide into subspace, Phil realized, affection blossoming in his chest.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Phil said. “Are you ready for the next part?”

Clint nodded and tilted his head up, silently asking for another kiss. Phil willingly obliged him, keeping it light and sweet this time. Clint made a small sound when Phil pulled away but opened his eyes, waiting patiently for Phil’s next instruction.

“Up on the bed.”

Clint stretched out on the sheets and Phil took a moment just to gaze his fill. The black leather was a sharp contrast to Clint’s skin, highlighting the honed muscles of his physique. His flushed cock lay heavy along his thigh and his eyes were hooded as he looked back at Phil.

“Like what you see, sir?” Clint was obviously striving for a cocky tone but a vulnerable note softened his voice.

"Yes," Phil said simply. He stepped forward and trailed his fingers down Clint's arms until he reached his wrist. Phil gently pressed Clint's wrist into the bedspread and linked the restraint to its accompanying strap. After fastening the other side, Clint had a little give in the movement of his arms but not too much. Phil tapped him on his leg.

"Bend your knees and spread your legs as wide as you can."

Clint swallowed and followed the instructions, his flexibility allowing him to spread to a truly impressive width, while Phil settled himself on the bed between Clint's legs. He ran his hands along Clint's thighs until he reached the wider leather straps, attaching their clasps to the chest harness. Clint wouldn't be able to lower his legs to the bed and his wide-spread thighs gave Phil easier access to his entrance.

"I want you to take a few deep breaths for me," Phil said.

Clint did so, the blinking of his eyes slowing with each one as he slipped further into subspace.

"Any cramping? Numbness or tingling?"

"No, sir," Clint sighed, closing his eyes, his body visibly relaxing further into the mattress.

Phil ran his hands over Clint's skin, enjoying the way Clint arched into his touch. Deep in subspace, Clint's movements had gained a languid fluidity, his body turning into liquid motion. Sighs and moans fell from his lips non-stop, voicing his pleasure. Phil ignored his own insistent erection to chase more of those sounds, using his lips, teeth, and tongue to elicit them. Clint was panting desperately by the time Phil let the head of his cock slip from his mouth. A lurid purple love bite had been placed at Clint's collarbone, another one graced his hip. Bite marks littered Clint's torso, some deep enough to bruise.

"Don't come," Phil warned.

He coated his fingers with lube and eased one finger inside. Clint arched his back and moaned, his hole clenching tight around Phil's finger. Phil took his time opening up Clint, enjoying the way Clint pulled at the restraints when he brushed over his prostate. He slipped his fingers free when Clint gave a particularly sharp jerk with a high-pitched cry, his arms pulling the straps taut; they were strong but he wasn't sure how well the straps would hold up in a contest against Clint's muscle.

Phil trailed his fingers over Clint's pucker once more, just to see it clench in response, before grabbing a condom. He slicked himself with lube and lined up at Clint's entrance, pressing a kiss to the inside of Clint's knee as he did so.

"Wait," Clint said in a raspy voice. He blinked several times rapidly and drew in a swift breath, his next words tumbling out in a rush. "I need to tell you something."

Phil stilled immediately, the head of his cock resting at Clint's opening. "What is it?"

Clint licked his lips and swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet room. The haze of subspace was gone from his eyes but another emotion had taken its place, something Phil had never seen before in Clint's gaze.

Clint's voice rang out crystal clear. "I love you."

Phil blinked. His lips parted.

"What?" he asked, dumbfounded.


	33. Chapter 33

"Okay," Clint said slowly, "I was kind of hoping for a different response."

Phil mentally cursed himself for the slip in composure and shook his head. "That wasn't what I meant to say."

His heart had sped up but Phil cleared his expression so that he looked calm. He leveled his gaze at Clint. "It's natural to feel strong emotions during a scene. I want you to understand that you shouldn't feel pressured to say anything you don't want to say."

Clint's brow furrowed. "There isn't a whole lot of blood in my brain right now and you just said a lot of words," he said, "but are you telling me that I don't love you?"

Phil’s voice remained even. "I'm saying that I don't want you to feel pressured to say it."

"I thought you wanted me to say it?" Confusion and frustration was written across Clint’s face.

"I do," Phil said, his tone softening. His thumb absentmindedly stroked Clint's knee. "When you're ready. Not in the middle of a scene."

Clint regarded him for a moment, eyes narrowed in serious contemplation. Phil had to fight the urge not to shift his weight under the intense scrutiny, steadily returning the gaze.

"Phil, when are you going to stop pushing me away?"

For the second time in so many minutes, Phil was at a loss. "What?" he repeated.

"I'm not a figment of your imagination or a dream or a fantasy," Clint said firmly. He shook his bound wrists to emphasize his point. "This is me in your bed, wrapped in your restraints, telling you that I love you."

"I've given over control to you. You have me. You have my heart." His lips curved up into a fond smile, small lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "What did you think I meant when I told you I'm yours, sir?"

Phil couldn't say a word. His mind was a complete blank. His heart pounded in his chest and blood rushed in his ears. He stared at Clint for so long that Clint's smile faltered.

"Or did I wait too long? Did you stop - ?" His voice trailed off and uncertainty filled his eyes.

That propelled Phil into action. He leaned forward and framed Clint's face with his hands.

"There is nothing on this earth," Phil said in a fierce hiss, "that would make me stop loving you."

Clint’s eyes widened. Phil’s mouth crashed down onto Clint's just as Clint surged upwards to meet him. They kissed hungrily, matching each other stroke for stroke, until they needed to part, gasping for air. Phil immediately latched onto Clint's neck, sucking hard at the delicate skin as Clint groaned underneath him and rolled his hips, sliding his cock against Phil's stomach and smearing precome. When Phil finally let up, a spectacular love bite was left on Clint's neck, high enough so that everyone would be able to see. Phil captured Clint's lips for another deep kiss as his fingers found one of Clint's nipples, swallowing Clint's moans while he toyed with it.

"Inside," Clint gasped when they parted again. "I need you inside."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Are you giving me orders now?"

"Just," Clint's breath stuttered as Phil's blunt nails scraped over his hard nipple, "just a suggestion."

Phil nodded, keeping a serious expression on his face even as amusement bubbled up inside of him. "I'll take it under advisement," he said and turned his attention to the other nipple.

When Clint could only utter gasps and whimpers, Phil reached for the lube.

"Sir?" Clint briefly caught his kiss-swollen lower lip between his teeth.

Phil slid his hand along the line of Clint's jaw and stroked Clint's cheek with his thumb. "Yes, sweetheart?"

Clint leaned into Phil's hand, blond hair in complete disarray, blue eyes bright. "I love you, Phil."

Phil smiled. Usually, his smiles were nothing more than small quirks of his lips but this one stretched from cheek to cheek. It transformed his face, making him seem younger and more carefree, far from the Agent Coulson persona he wore so often. "I love you, Clint."

Clint's breath hitched as Phil pressed against his entrance. He went slowly, rocking gently back and forth, gradually opening Clint up around his cock until, at last, he was buried to the hilt. He rested his forehead against Clint's and threaded their fingers together.

"You feel amazing," Phil said, looking into Clint's brilliant eyes.

"You too, sir." Clint tilted his mouth up towards Phil.

For a few moments, the only movement were their lips in a sweet, tender kiss. Then Phil shifted his hips, starting up a slow, easy pace. He savored the way Clint clenched around him, as if he couldn't bear to let him go. Their breaths mingled with every hard exhalation. Pleasure rose within Phil as he watched Clint slide completely into subspace, the lines of his face relaxing in passion and surrender, moans spilling from his parted lips.

He buried his face in the crook of Clint’s neck as he fought the mounting urge to thrust hard and fast. Phil wanted this moment to last forever: Clint, bound in his leather, legs spread for Phil’s pleasure even as Phil strove to give him pleasure in return. But eventually, his hips began to move faster of their own accord. He tightened his grip, their intertwined fingers clutching at each other, as he drove into Clint again and again, pressing him down into the mattress.

“Clint,” Phil panted as he slid closer to the edge, sweat dampening his brow. His hips twisted as he thrust hard, wringing every ounce of pleasure from those last few moments. Clint moaned and clenched around him, impossibly tight, and Phil’s world exploded into white. He shouted Clint’s name once more as his orgasm swept through him, rocking Clint’s body with a half dozen more powerful thrusts as he spent his release.

Phil slowed to a stop but Clint continued to shift his hips, trying as hard as he could to impale himself on Phil’s cock even as Phil struggled to catch his breath. When Phil began to pull out, a litany of pleas spilled from Clint’s lips.

“You said I was good.” Clint’s voice was hoarse and his hips continued to move in fluid rolls as he tried to seek out a friction that wasn't there. “Please, sir, I'm so close. Please let me come. I'll do anything. Just please.”

Phil could tell that Clint was close. The flushed head of his cock steadily dripped precome onto his stomach, the vein on the underside clearly visible. His balls were drawn up tight and tension thrummed through his entire body.

He shushed Clint gently. “I've got you, baby,” Phil said, re-positioning himself between Clint’s spread legs. He slung his forearm across Clint’s lower stomach, grasping Clint’s cock with a loose fist.

“You have been so good for me,” Phil said with a warm smile. “Now come for me, sweetheart.”

A choked-off cry left Clint’s lips and he bucked hard when his hard cock slid into Phil’s mouth; Phil’s forearm clamping down on his hips was the only thing that prevented Clint from ramming Phil’s throat. Letting go of his cock, Phil pushed three fingers back inside him. Clint frantically rocked between Phil’s mouth and his fingers with increasingly desperate cries. Phil purposefully relaxed, letting more and more of Clint’s cock inside his mouth until the head was nudging at the very back. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he let it slip down his throat on Clint’s next thrust.

Then he hummed.

Clint immediately froze. A shudder racked his frame and then he was coming with a loud, long groan, come pulsing down Phil’s throat. Phil swallowed it all, then licked along Clint’s shaft and sucked gently at the head to prolong the sensations, rewarded by Clint’s breathy moans.

Phil eased off of Clint’s cock when it began to soften and quickly moved to unfasten the restraints. He unhooked the thigh straps from the chest harness, lowering Clint’s legs to the bed one at a time, using his hands to control their descent so that the muscles gradually stretched. After removing the ankle and thigh straps, he set to work unfastening the chest harness. Clint’s eyes remained closed but he had recovered enough to follow Phil’s murmured instructions so that he could remove it.

But Clint made a protesting noise and pulled away when Phil’s fingers skimmed over the wrist restraints.

“No,” he said, his voice raspy. Clint looked at Phil, his eyes soft with spent passion and love. “I want to keep them on.”

Phil immediately rewarded Clint with a deep, possessive kiss. Love and contentment spread through him as he felt Clint’s hands rest on his shoulders, the soft leather of the wrist restraints brushing against his chest. He couldn't keep the wide smile from spreading across his face again nor did he want to.

“Perfect,” Phil said, brushing another kiss over Clint’s lips. “Absolutely perfect.”


	34. Chapter 34

“I'm assuming from the ridiculous hickey on Barton’s neck that things are going well between you two.” Fury narrowed his eyes, his fingers steepled under his chin.

Phil smirked. He had put a cockring on Clint that morning, ordered him not to come, and then fucked him until he begged for release. The desperate kiss Clint had given him before they’d left his apartment for SHIELD HQ was exactly the result he’d wanted. Yeah, things were definitely going well.

Fury shook his head in supposed disgust but Phil could see the amusement in his eyes. “Acting like some damn lovesick teenagers,” he muttered.

In a louder voice, Fury said, “Give me an update on Project T.A.H.I.T.I.”

Phil sobered. “In my last report, I recommended the immediate release of our patients. All were doing extremely well after the administration of the GH-325 serum.”

“What changed?”

“Our first patient, Agent Rebecca Stevens.” Phil pulled up a video on his tablet and turned it around so that Fury could see. “Two days ago, she started writing these strange symbols. So far, Linguistics hasn't been able to link it to any kind of ideographic, pictographic, or logographic writing system developed by humans. They haven't been able to match it to any of the alien writing we know of either.”

“Shit.” Fury leaned forward and took the tablet from Phil, his eye rapidly scanning the screen. “Does she know what they mean?”

“The only communication we’ve gotten from her since this started are screams when she doesn't have some kind of writing utensil.”

Fury swore under his breath. “What about the cancer? Is it back?”

Phil frowned. “No, physically she still seems to be cured. All of our tests show no recurrence.”

Fury set the tablet on the desk and stood up. Turning, he strode over to look out of the floor to ceiling window behind his desk, linking his hands behind his back.

“We haven’t released any of the patients yet,” Phil said into the silence. “We’re keeping them all for observation.”

“Tell me you're working on a solution.”

Phil was silent a moment. “With all due respect, sir, we don't even have a clue what the problem is. All of our tests show that she’s completely normal otherwise. The only thing abnormal is her behavior and the GH-325 in her blood, and we’re the ones who put it there!” He couldn't help the rise in volume of his voice towards the end.

Fury whirled around, his leather coat flaring outwards with the sharp movement. “Do you not remember what happened last month?”

He stalked forward and leaned his hands against the desk. “This organization was built to investigate the weird, the strange, the abnormal, and the alien. We were designed to not only protect humans from themselves but from anything else that might harm them. We were supposed to prepare for anything.”

“Do you know the lesson I took away from New Mexico?” Fury asked. The hard stare from his one eye pinned Phil to his seat. “We’re up shit creek without a paddle.”

Fury pushed off from the desk and began pacing. “What defenses did we have against the Destroyer? None! Aliens decided to use our planet to fight out a grudge match and we couldn't do a single damn thing about it. Who's to say that they won't do it again?” Exasperation colored his tone. “Not to mention there are seven other realms we suddenly have to worry about.”

Fury sat back down and leaned forward in his chair. “I'm putting my faith in the Avengers Initiative. The ultimate strike team made of extraordinary individuals. People who will put everything on the line to save this planet.” His voice grew firm. “But I want to make damn well sure that we have their backs in return. Project T.A.H.I.T.I. is the only way to ensure that.”

Phil had remained silent throughout Fury’s speech. When he spoke, it was with extreme precision. “If even a single drop of GH-325 touches Clint’s bloodstream before we figure out what's going on, I will resign immediately.”

Fury looked at him a long time. “Noted.” He handed the tablet back to Phil. “Find me a solution.”

*

Clint knocked on Phil’s office door and then immediately entered, closing it behind him.

“Here’s my After Action Report,” he said with a grin, holding it out to Phil. He remained standing on the other side of the desk.

Phil looked up. He took a moment to just drink in Clint’s appearance: a black T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, hands were shoved into the pockets of his cargo pants, and a devilish glint lit his eyes. He could smell the strong clean scent of soap and the dirty blond strands of his hair were darker than usual; he must have just finished taking a shower. The conversation he'd had with Fury that morning had unsettled him more than he’d realized. He was glad to see his Clint in front of him, whole and unharmed.

Phil took the paperwork and raised his eyebrows. “Two things,” he said. “One, I wasn't the commanding officer for your last mission so I shouldn't be getting your AAR. Two,” he held up the paper, “this is blank.”

“How about that?” Clint said in mock surprise. “So I’ve had this fantasy of blowing you while you sit at that desk.”

Tension immediately filled the air. Phil narrowed his eyes. “How long have you had this fantasy?”

Clint licked his lips, his eyes darkening. “Oh, give or take eight hours.” He began to round the desk.

“Clint, we're at work,” Phil said in a warning tone.

Clint didn't stop moving. “That’s not a no.” He reached the other side and swiveled Phil’s chair to the side, dropping to his knees in one smooth motion.

Alarm bells were clamoring in his head but all the blood was being diverted from the logic centers of his brain straight downwards. “Door,” he gritted out as Clint began unfastening his slacks, his hands deliberately brushing over his growing erection.

“Locked it when I came in.” Clint pulled out his rapidly hardening cock and gave it a stroke.

Phil widened his legs and sunk his hands into Clint’s hair but he made one last ditch effort for sanity. “You’re still not going to come,” he said as Clint hovered over the head of his cock.

“Not part of the fantasy, sir,” Clint said and swallowed him down.

Phil just barely bit back a groan. He hadn't come twice in one day in a long time but Clint was definitely determined to make it happen. He lost track of time for a while, awash in the sensations caused by Clint’s lips and tongue. A voice just outside his door cut through the haze.

“Agent Blake, how was the mission?”

Phil tensed. Clint immediately stopped, alerted by the tightening of Phil’s thigh muscles under his hands. He flicked his gaze upward, mouth still stretched over Phil’s cock, as he waited to see what Phil wanted to do.

“Agent Sitwell.” Phil heard a sigh. “Well, the good news is that it ended early.”

Phil stared down at Clint, his heart pounding in his chest. After he broken up with Garrett, he had set out to systematically figure out every single one of his kinks; it seemed that either he had missed one along the way or he had suddenly developed one in the past few minutes. His cock fully hardened in Clint’s mouth as Sitwell’s reply floated through the door.

“And the bad news?”

He hadn’t realized how thin the SHIELD office doors were until this very moment. Usually, his brain automatically filtered out the background noise but now he was suddenly hyper-aware of every footstep that traveled past his door. Clint was still waiting, eyes trained upwards. Phil drew in a breath and came to a rapid decision. His hands tightened in Clint’s hair and he pushed his cock further into Clint’s mouth. Clint renewed his efforts with enthusiasm, causing Phil to bite back another groan.

Another sigh. “Barton jumped off another building even after I told him not to. I would think he’s doing it to me deliberately to give me a heart attack, except I know he does it to everyone.”

Phil tilted his head back against the back of his office chair as he slid closer and closer to the edge. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this close this quickly. He huffed out a harsh breath as Clint swirled his tongue around the head of his cock.

“I was in R&D last week and heard them joking about making him an arrow that would shoot out an inflatable cushion.” A pause. “Then they started designing it.”

A soft groan escaped Phil’s lips. One hand left Clint’s hair to curl into a fist; he bit it to muffle the sounds he made as he came hard, his other hand keeping Clint’s head still as he shot down his throat.

“Well, I have to go on the useless errand of reminding him to file his AAR. Last I heard, he was sparring Romanoff. I’m heading over to the gym now.”

“I’ll go with you. I wanted to pick your brain about some of the new recruits.”

The voices faded away as Phil struggled to catch his breath. Clint pulled off Phil’s cock, one hand still gripping the base.

“That arrow sounds awesome,” he said, his voice now hoarse but still cheerful.

Phil found his own voice. “You jumped off a building? Again?”

“Huh, you heard that?” Clint began to tuck Phil’s cock back into his pants. “Clearly, I need to work on my blowjob skills.”

He felt like he should be annoyed but only affection warmed Phil’s chest as Clint zipped up his slacks and refastened his belt. Clint’s own erection visibly tented his own cargo pants but he made no move towards it.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Clint said, standing up with a wink. “I’ll keep practicing until I’m perfect.”


	35. Chapter 35

Clint’s eyes widened when Phil pulled open the door. “Oh shit,” he said softly.

“Inside.” Phil’s voice brooked no argument, his gaze dark and intense. “Now.”

He moved back so that Clint could enter his apartment. After Clint had left his office that afternoon, Phil hadn’t been able to get much work done. He’d known deep inside that he was finally ready to take the next step but it had still taken him a few hours before he could talk to Clint about it. The last time they’d tried this, he’d felt out of control, uneasy that they were moving too quickly. Now, for the first time in their relationship, he finally felt as if they were on the same page.

But he hadn’t anticipated how much of a reaction Clint would have to the news; Clint’s breaths were already coming short as he stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him.

Phil reached out and grasped the back of Clint’s neck. “Hey,” he said softly. “Color?”

Clint’s eyes were focused on a point behind Phil. “Green,” he breathed out. “Please, sir.”

“Look at me, Clint.” Clint’s eyes slid towards him but Phil could tell his focus was still elsewhere. “Clint!” Phil said sharply.

Clint finally focused. His pupils were already dilating, swallowing the blue of his eyes. He licked his lips. “Sir?” His voice was rough and sounded a little distant.

“Clint, baby.” Phil swiped his thumb over Clint’s cheek. A surge of desire went through him although his cock didn’t stir; it was well and truly out of commission for the night. “Promise me that you’ll safeword if you need to,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t hurt you. I won’t.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint leaned into Phil’s grasp, his hand coming up to grip Phil’s forearm. “Please,” he whispered.

“Okay.” Phil tightened his grip for a moment and then let go. “Okay, baby. Strip.”

Clint tore off his clothes, his gaze shifting to behind Phil again. When they were in a heap on the floor, Phil spoke again.

“You know what to do.”

Moving further into the apartment, Clint headed straight for the object in the middle of the living room. Facing it, he spread his legs so that they were a little further than shoulder-width apart and raised his arms over his head. Phil stepped close until he could feel the body heat emanating from Clint’s skin. He threaded his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Clint’s neck.

“Beautiful,” Phil said. Clint’s head dropped forward.

Phil trailed his hand down the length of Clint’s spine until he reached the swell of his ass. His hands fanned out along Clint’s lower back, thumbs resting at the small of his back. Phil dropped a gentle kiss at the very top of Clint’s spine, breathing in his clean soap smell.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, baby,” Phil murmured against his skin. Clint moaned softly.

Phil reached forward, grabbing the two ends of the leather strap at the center of the X-frame. He pulled them gently around Clint’s waist and lashed it tight. Dropping to his knees behind Clint, he wrapped the restraints at the bottom of the cross around each of Clint’s ankles. Phil caressed Clint’s muscular calves and thighs as he rose to his feet.

He pressed close, molding his front to Clint’s back, Clint’s perfectly round ass nestled against his pelvis. Phil’s hands traveled along the flat planes of Clint’s abdomen, pulling another moan from him when he deliberately brushed over his nipples. His mouth settled over the crook of Clint’s neck, sucking hard as he teased the small nubs.

Clint let out a sharp cry, his muscles tensing. Phil gave a sharp bite to the small bruise he made before licking along the shell of Clint’s ear. Clint’s moans tapered off as Phil’s hands left his nipples; he traced along the musculature of one of Clint’s arms until he reached his wrist. The suede-lined leather restraint was wrapped gently around the delicate bones and then Phil repeated the motion on Clint’s other side.

Phil used his hand to turn Clint’s head until their gazes met. Clint’s eyes were hazy but he wasn’t completely in subspace yet.

“If you can help it, try not to yank on your wrists,” Phil said. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” The words were soft but audible.

“We’re starting off with flogging. Suede falls.” Phil spread his hand along the line of Clint’s jaw. “This is not,” he emphasized the word firmly, “a punishment. It may hurt but I want you to feel pleasure.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint turned his head and pressed a kiss into Phil’s palm. “Thank you, sir,” he breathed out, his blue eyes bright. “I love you.”

Phil smiled fondly, a thrill running through him at the phrase leaving Clint’s lips. “I love you.”

He moved to the bookcase and picked up the smooth, glossy black ball handle of the chosen flogger. When he turned around, Clint was very still against the X-frame, his muscles tense. Moving close to Clint again, Phil raised it high.

Clint drew in a swift breath when the soft black falls were dragged gently across his left shoulder.

“Relax, baby,” Phil said as he drew them down the length of Clint’s back, retracing the path his hands had taken earlier. He flicked his wrist so that the falls landed on Clint’s right shoulder and then repeated the downward motion. “Let me take care of you.”

He trailed the falls along Clint’s left arm from wrist to shoulder. “I’ve got you.” Phil kissed the top of Clint’s spine again and then ran the falls along Clint’s right arm. “I’ve got you, baby.”

The tension visibly drained out of Clint’s shoulders and he let out a gentle sigh. “That’s it,” Phil murmured. “Let go.”

Clint bowed his head as Phil ran his fingers through his hair again. Phil felt a surge of satisfaction as he took in Clint’s relaxed stance against the X-frame. “Good.”

He stepped back and moved off to Clint’s left side. He began to twirl the flogger in his right hand through the air, warming up his wrist. “I’m starting now,” he called out softly and let the tips of the falls land on Clint’s left butt cheek.

Clint gasped and his hips shifted. Phil landed the falls on the other side before dropping the flogger to his side; Clint’s hips shifted again, cheeks clenching once before relaxing.

“Color?”

Clint had to clear his throat before he answered, “Green,” in a thick voice.

Phil smirked. He thought Clint would like that; the sensation of the flogger strike he’d chosen wasn’t too far off from spanking - a sharp sting followed by a warm flush. He changed position so that he was directly behind Clint and began moving his wrist so that the flogger swung in a figure eight motion.

“Now,” Phil said with a fierce grin, “let’s see just how red we can make that ass.”

Clint’s cheeks bounced deliciously every time Phil let the falls land, a blush spreading outwards with every strike. His gasps morphed into low moans, cheeks clenching as his hips began to move in fluid rolls. Phil kept up the rhythm for a minute before letting the flogger drop to his side.

“Hmm,” he said in mock contemplation, as if he hadn’t planned out every detail of this scene ahead of time. Clint drew in a shuddering breath, head bowed. “I have a thought.”

He set down the flogger on the bookcase and coated his fingers with lube. Phil stepped close to Clint and curled his fingers around his hip. “Clint, look at me,” he commanded softly.

Clint turned his head and met Phil’s gaze. His pupils were blown wide, lower lip reddened with visible bite marks. “Sir,” he whimpered.

Phil pressed a kiss to Clint’s shoulder at the same time his slippery fingers began to circle Clint’s hole. “A butt plug,” he said as he slipped one finger inside Clint. “I think you’re ready for the next size up.” He began to move in and out with long strokes of his finger, adding in another one when he deemed Clint was ready. Clint’s mouth dropped open, moans spilling from his lips, and he struggled to hold Phil’s gaze, his eyelids obviously wanting to slide shut.

Pulling his fingers free, Phil dropped another kiss onto Clint’s shoulder before glancing downwards; Clint’s cock was taking a definite interest but Phil ignored it for now. He retrieved the butt plug from the bookcase and coated it with lube. It was the same design as the other one he’d used with Clint - polished stainless steel with a bulbous teardrop shaped head tapering down into a slim neck - but slightly larger.

“Oh, Clint,” Phil said from behind Clint, rocking the plug against his entrance with one hand as he spread the fingers of his other hand wide over Clint’s lower abdomen. Clint moaned helplessly as the plug started to sink inside and Phil grinned. “I think we’re off to a good start, don’t you?”


	36. Chapter 36

Phil pressed a kiss to the side of Clint’s neck as the plug slipped the rest of the way inside. He stayed close, wrapping his arms around Clint as he adjusted, his pants gradually slowing to deeper breaths. After a minute, Clint leaned his head back onto Phil’s shoulder and let out a sigh. Phil playfully nipped at his neck with his teeth and smiled when Clint made a small sound in his throat in response.

“Ready?” Phil murmured in Clint’s ear.

Clint nodded and raised his head from Phil’s shoulder. Phil placed one hand on the area underneath Clint’s shoulder blade. “I’m going to move to your back now, sweetheart.” He ran his hand over Clint’s ass, squeezing each cheek, before retrieving the flogger.

“Same flogger. Different strike,” Phil said, beginning to swing the flogger in a circular motion well away from Clint’s body. “Just four to start.”

The combination of Clint’s broad back and his upraised arms meant that Phil had a nice large target in the area underneath Clint’s shoulder blades to land his strikes. He moved in close and struck Clint’s back, two on either side; this time, he let the flat of the falls land as well as the tips. Clint sucked in a breath but otherwise made no other noise.

“Color?”

Clint was silent a moment before he spoke, an uncertain waver in his voice. “Yellow?”

Phil quickly moved so that he could see Clint’s face. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he said, running a soothing hand down Clint’s back.

His brow furrowed, Clint was obviously thinking about his next words. “I didn’t like those as much as the first ones,” he said slowly. “I wouldn’t mind a few like that but not too many.”

Phil hummed as he thought, his hand seemingly absent-mindedly drifting down to caress Clint’s ass. Clint’s eyes closed and his lips parted as Phil’s fingers trailed over each perfectly round cheek. He skimmed over the sensitive skin at the junction between cheek and thigh before dropping his hand.

“Let’s try something else,” Phil said, beginning to twist the falls with his left hand and moving to Clint’s right side. When the falls were twisted into a tight coil, he swung his arm in a smooth arc, the tips landing on Clint’s left cheek with a smack.

Clint jerked forward and let out a choked-off cry. Phil raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes!” Clint moaned as his hands clenched and unclenched. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Phil twisted the falls and nodded. “Noted. More sting,” he let the flogger swing again to land on Clint’s right cheek, eliciting more loud moans, “less thud.” He knew it wasn’t only the stinging sensation of the flogger to which Clint was reacting but the plug now nudging against Clint’s prostate with every movement of his hips.

“Let’s warm up your back,” he said, moving directly behind Clint. He began swinging the flogger in a figure eight pattern again and grinned, dark and feral. “Because I’m really looking forward to making you scream.”

Clint let out another moan, his head falling forward. Phil began striking the area underneath Clint’s shoulder blades, alternating each side, with the tips of the flogger. Clint fell largely quiet, the muscles of his back shifting whenever Phil landed a harder strike. After a few minutes, Phil stepped close to check in; Clint nodded when Phil asked him if he was okay, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

“Just a little more,” Phil promised, squeezing the back of Clint’s neck once.

He grabbed an object from the bookcase and then moved back into position. A light flush had bloomed on Clint’s back but it didn’t yet match the intensity of the redness on his ass. Phil twirled the flogger in his right hand and then the identical one now in his left. “This is going to feel more intense,” he warned and let them fly.

Phil felt the grin on his face grow as he fell into a rhythm, the floggers traveling through the air in a four-point florentine. He’d definitely missed this these past few months; he’d worked hard to develop the skill and it was nice to use it on someone who obviously appreciated it. Clint’s body was starting to twist in the restraints, cries sounding from his throat. Phil gave him a short break and then switched to a six-point florentine, the floggers falling hard and fast on Clint’s back, deepening the flush to a beautiful rosy red.

He was breathing hard when he finally let the floggers drop to his sides, his arm muscles aching pleasantly. Clint slumped forward on the X-frame; Phil hurried to his side. Satisfaction thrummed through him when he caught sight of the look on Clint’s face. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his lips slack with pleasure; he was deep in subspace, almost punch-drunk with it. Phil placed both floggers into his left hand and grabbed Clint’s hair with his right, yanking his head back hard. His mouth crashed down onto Clint’s, stealing Clint’s breath away in a deep, penetrating kiss.

“It’s time.” Phil sank his teeth into Clint’s bottom lip, pulling it briefly before letting go. His voice was dark with promise as he spoke again. “It’s time for you to scream.”

He took his time walking back to the bookcase and setting the floggers down, checking to make sure none of the falls were tangled. Then he picked up the wooden handle of the dragon tail. The purple suede of its single fall flared out in a triangular shape before tapering down to a point; he pinched it between the thumb and index finger of his left hand, stretching out the fall just to reacquaint himself with the length.

Clint gasped when the tail landed gently on his left shoulder. “This is a dragon tail.” Phil’s voice was the smooth rumble he tended to lapse into when they were on a long mission and Clint needed to stay awake. “Its sting is intense,” he began to pull it across Clint’s skin, caressing his shoulder and neck, “and it definitely leaves its mark.” Clint moaned as the last of the tail fell from his shoulder.

Phil moved into position and cracked the whip once, far away from Clint’s skin. Clint still flinched slightly at the sudden noise. Phil cracked it again and this time, Clint didn’t visibly react.

“We’re only going to do ten,” Phil said and cracked it again. This time, the fall landed on Clint’s left butt cheek, causing him to gasp and jerk forward. “As you can see,” the whip cracked and landed on his right cheek, “its sting is more intense than the flogger.” Clint choked on a cry as the fall whipped across his left cheek again, at a spot slightly lower than before. “Just like so.” Another crack and the fall landed on a matching spot on the other side. The muscles of Clint’s ass clenched hard as he rocked forward with another cry.

“Color, Clint?” Phil called out. Clint was breathing harshly, his hands clenched tight in his bonds.

The reply took a while but finally, Clint choked out a “Green.”

Phil continued as if there had been no interruption. “It’s more intense on the back,” he said and let the whip land right underneath Clint’s left shoulder blade. Clint twisted in his bonds with a higher-pitched cry. “Less muscle to absorb the impact.” Clint barely had time to draw in a breath before the whip licked the skin underneath his right shoulder blade. His back bowed as he let out another high-pitched cry.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Phil said quietly. Clint’s harsh breaths were the only other sound. “You should see yourself. Your back and ass are red from the flogger and there are six gorgeous marks on your skin.” The whip cracked through the air and another welt appeared on Clint’s back. Clint’s head fell forward and he let out a sob.

“Why are you holding back?” A curious note was in Phil’s voice. “I made you a promise, didn’t I?” Another crack and a matching mark appeared on the other side of Clint’s back. Clint’s back bowed again but this time, he made no sound.

“Scream for me, Clint.” Two rapid-fire cracks sounded but no new marks appeared. Instead, Phil had aimed for the same two areas he’d first targeted the whip, one on either cheek.

Clint’s scream rent the air. Phil was there, wrapping his arms around him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said, nuzzling Clint’s neck. “Ride it.”

Tears were streaming down Clint’s face as he panted, his eyes wide and unseeing. Phil glanced down but he didn’t need the visual confirmation; Clint was hard, his cock curved up towards his abdomen, precome dripping down its length. Phil reached down and grasped it, the precome easing the way for his firm strokes.

“Come for me, beautiful,” he said.

Clint did instantly, his head falling back onto Phil’s shoulder as he groaned his release. Come painted Phil’s hand as he stroked him through it.

“I love you, Clint,” Phil murmured into his ear as Clint shuddered through the last of his orgasm in his arms.

*

Phil woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed, the sheets turned down on the other side. Light spilled from his bathroom - Phil could tell it was the softer light of the vanity rather than the overheads - the door partially open. Some sound had awoken him, something that he couldn’t quite place. He grabbed his glasses before heading towards the light.

He pushed open the door to find Clint standing before the mirror, his T-shirt lying on the countertop. He had twisted his upper body around so that he could see his back, one of his hands tracing a mark left by the whip on his skin. Clint had obviously not heard Phil come in and Phil wasn’t sure what the expression on his face meant.

“Clint?”

Clint looked up at Phil in the mirror. Phil could see himself standing there in a rumpled T-shirt and pajama pants, his thin, flyaway hair mussed, thick, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. In contrast, Clint looked as if he were posing for a marble Renaissance sculpture, the soft lighting only highlighting the contours of his muscles.

Then Clint smiled. Happiness radiated from his face and the corners of his eyes creased with smile lines. “I love you, Phil,” he said simply, gazing at Phil in the mirror, adoration clear in his eyes.

Phil gave an answering smile in return and moved forward to gather Clint into his arms, capturing his lips in a slow, tender kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those who commented throughout this story! I truly appreciated every single word of encouragement. Special thanks to [tawg](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg), who gave me a much needed pep talk when I got stuck.
> 
> I hope you've all enjoyed the series so far. I've definitely enjoyed writing it; this series started off as a way to blow off steam and now it's become dear to my heart. There are at least two more stories planned for this 'verse and I definitely have other story ideas for Clint/Coulson, which is my favorite pairing in the MCU. Unfortunately, I need to tend to real life matters so I most likely won't be posting any more stories for the next few months. Please consider subscribing to either this series or to me as a user, if you'd like to read more of my words.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and comments are much appreciated.


End file.
